Take Me Under
by Broken Remedy
Summary: DISCONTINUEDPhoenix AU When Clark Kent returned to Smallville from Metropolis, he never expected to find that his actions had deadly consequences. Trust has been betrayed and this time there’s no way he can escape.
1. A secret revealed

Take Me Under   
  
Sunshine roamed around the clouds high up in the sky as brightness made its way over the busy city of Metropolis, the light from the heavens excelling while hectic work resumed and morning hours stroke the clock. Some of the citizens were still fast asleep in their beds while others were at work trying to make money. Located amongst buildings and apartments of the demanding conurbation, in one of the edifices, which looked like a tall high-rise, was a certain man doing certain things. It was murky and bleak in the room though, with all the curtains shut, the only light coming from a medium sized television placed in the middle of the space, and the only noise was from the tube too.   
  
Fancy items decorated the room, on dressers and end tables while paintings hung from the walls, and as the sound of a police pursuit echoed through the ramparts, sitting in a metal seat was an elderly man wearing a pair of clear glasses. Beside him stood two tough-looking-men, their hands behind their backs as they too watched the TV. The extremely early morning was not getting to any of them as they continued with their 'job' and with life. Sitting in the chair was non-other than the biggest crime boss of Metropolis. With his face looking seriously at the television, he kept his eyes looking out for something on the screen, waiting with his hands to his chin and his elbows on his knees as the sound of the recorded cop-chase filled his ears.   
  
Suddenly grabbing the black remote on the glass end table next to him and pausing the tape, he pointed his finger to the display and beamed vilely. "There." The man, Morgan Edge directed to the people behind him, the sudden halt of the video simply showing at least twenty armed law enforcement agents aiming their guns at a robber who was wearing a black mask and holding bags of money in his hands. Confused and puzzled, one of the men, of course wearing all black with his smoothed back black hair, darted his eyebrows down, moved more into the TV monitor, and squinted his eyes to see what his superior was talking about.   
  
"Wha-…where? I don't see anything." He stated, still looking for whatever his boss was staring at as Morgan leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms to his chest with the smile still planted on his lips. What he had been searching for since the day he met an individual man was finally there, and it was as if his life was complete. Taking a mug that was next to him steaming with coffee, he placed it to his mouth and took a sip from it while bringing his finger up again and guiding it to the screen again.   
  
"Look at the woman police officer in the front." Morgan told him, gulping another swallow of the caffeine down his throat as it took a few seconds for the man to see anything through all the chaotic fuss what was that was going on at the place the television showed. Nodding his head though and taking a step back, he chuckled and kept his head bouncing as he took realization to what the tape truly held.   
  
"Oh! Now I see it. She is a babe, isn't she?" Elbowing the other thug, who stood rolling his eyes, the man chuckled when suddenly a glass lashed at his head and shatter into a million pieces, causing him to yelp in pain and bend down to his knees. Afterwards he brushed all the sharp slices out of his crown when the sound of his supervisor's exclaim flowed into his ears and made him mentally wince in regret for what he had said.   
  
"The damn bracelet, Johnson!" Morgan yelled in frustration, shaking his head as he kept his eyes staring at the VDT just so he did not feel more anger rise in his body. Shaking his head this time to get all the crushed cup chunks out of his black locks, Johnson sighed as he straightened his position and snarled at the other brute across from him, who looked like a statue with his arms behind his back and his face staring at the TV in front of him.   
  
"It's just a bracelet sir." He admitted, the bangle dangling from a female officer who had her arm raised up with a pistol in her hands. "Look closer." Edge demeaned, placing the coffee cup in his hands aside next to him as he watched through the corner of his eyes his gangster get on his knees and stick his face two inches near the monitor, which caused him to roll his eyes. Darting his eyebrows up in awe and confusion, he turned his head to Morgan and blinked a few times in both bewilderment and the light that was still glowing in his eyes.   
  
"Glowing? I-It's glowing?" Johnson stuttered, his eyes wide as he looked at the box in front of him again just to make sure he was seeing things right. And he was. The wristlet was shimmering not with the sun down on it, but for an unknown reason to anyone who saw it. Nodding his head, Morgan pushed his glasses up his nose and grinned once again while taking the beaker the other thug next to him handed to him. As he took a large gulp of the scotch in the cup, he could see the man in front of the TV still trying to make sure he wasn't seeing things.   
  
"Yes, now look at the thief in the black mask." Morgan ordered, closing his eyes as he felt another guzzle of the thick liquid fall down his throat in pleasure. And just as he wanted, another confused expression planted on Johnson's face as he slowly turned his head back over to him and licked his dry lips, his face clearly showing the shock yet mystification that was in his mind and body.   
  
"He's sick." Saying this in a statement and not a question like before, Johnson looked back at the screen and stared carefully at the robber, who was holding one hand to his stomach and his other trying to keep himself up. It looked as if he was about to vomit or explode in pain, even if you couldn't see his face with the ski façade that was covering his head, eyes, and cheeks.   
  
"And what's making him sick?" Edge asked him, waiting a minute for a simple reply as the man just gazed at the screen in confusion, his eyes not blinking as he tried to find anything small and unnoticeable on the tape. Not even seeing gas to make the burglar ill though, he looked back at Morgan, who growled and grabbed his shirt to bring him closer to his body in irritation and annoyance.   
  
"Do I need to get a smarter ruffian for God's sake!? What is the bracelet made out of?" He shouted as he released the black cloth and let the man shakily look back at the TV screen, his eyebrows darting down in puzzlement to what he was seeing.   
  
"Some green crap." Johnson told him, hearing an exasperated sigh from the other hooligan as he looked back over at Edge, who clutched his teeth and watched his other employ walk out of the room before nodding his head as he understood what he was trying to say.   
  
"Exactly! That's what I want you to make it out of." Morgan said, ripping off his glasses and rubbing his tired face. Everything would be so prefect if he did not have a dimwitted hoodlum working for him. As he put his glasses back on, he saw that Johnson was still sitting in front of the medium screen in wonder and amazement to a man so strong that he would rob a bank was getting so weak around a simple bracelet. Growling though, he slammed his hands down on the end table next to him, causing the glass with his scotch in it to shake and the man to snap his head around in surprise. Pointing his finger to the other side of the room where you could see the light shinning brightly through one of the doors, he hissed loudly in annoyance to him as he shakily got up before he even spoke.   
  
"Go! I'm giving you twenty-four hours and that's it!" Nodding his head and stumbling to his feet, he gulped loudly and began to rush towards the room the other thug was already in, not even daring to say another word due to the bad mood his boss seem to be in. It was because of him though that Morgan had a horrible temper. He only had so long to do what he wanted to do, and every minute that went by a chance was lost in the dust. Sighing loudly, he felt like slumping down in the chair and mumbling curse words, but as soon as he saw the picture frozen on the screen in front of him, a smile slipped onto his face.   
  
Chuckling malevolency, he grabbed the remote on the end table, played the tape, watching the female officer now step back, and give the robber time to heal and run out of the place in a split second. "Secrets don't always stay secret Mr. Kent. I'm afraid you're going to have to find that out the hard way." Edge said as grabbed his glass and gulped down the rest of the drink, the strong taste overwhelming his senses while he cackled and brought the now clear glass up to the small screen, which was sizzling with the snow channel.   
  
And the only noise that filled the room from that moment on was the sound of the static echoing from the television and the resonance of Morgan's malevolent laughs.  
  
To be Continued… 


	2. And so it begins

White clouds of miasma rolled around in the sky of Smallville, the sun sitting gently in the atmosphere while it's bright glow glistened down on the barn of the Kent farm where Jonathan Kent stood, holding a vial of red liquid in his fingers with a meteor rock in his other hand. As his eyes continued to be glued to the thick fluid in the glass, a eerie green radiance escaped the rock the closer it got to the vial, causing the farmer to sigh glumly and regretfully while turning his head around and looking up at the teenage boy who was standing up in his loft. With his arms leaning against the railing, he waited for the man to reply, and as he watched his chest exhale air, he immediately knew that he didn't even need an answer.   
  
"It's your blood." Jonathan told him, bringing his sight back to his hands where he held the vial tight in his grip and placed the still glowing meteor rock back in its lead case where he shut it closed and turned around to see his son now walking down the stairs of the roof space above him. Throwing his hands up some, Clark sighed and shook his head while he moved his feet down the flight of steps when he saw that the simple rock could not hurt him as it sat in the place where it belonged.   
  
"Do you think Lionel knows?" He asked, staring at his dad for an answer as Jonathan grabbed the metal case that was next to him in his hands and brought his arm up that had the clear glass vial in it to show Clark as he finished walking down the stairs. While the father walked towards the other end of the room, the sun beamed down on the farm and entered through the barn doors, showing that summer time was still here and causing a thin line of sweat to form on their foreheads.   
  
"Helen told me she never labeled it before somebody stole it from her office." Jonathan informed him, ripping open the toolbox on the table he was now next to as he looked in front of him at the wood wall that supported the roof of the shed he was in. Arching his arm back, he held the vial tight in his hands, feeling like he was about to smash it with the anger he had in his body from what fate was doing to him. Possibly the most powerful man in the world might actually know his son's secret, something he had been trying to keep for over seventeen years, and if he did know that the boy was different, then hell was going to let lose.   
  
"Why would Lionel want my blood?" Clark inquired, placing his hands on his hips as the sudden sound of glass smashing against the barrier filled his ears, causing him to snap his head over to the sound to see his father with his arm swinging down to his side and blood dripping down the wood of the barn.   
  
"It doesn't matter now." Jonathan declared, throwing the metal case that used to have the vial in it in the toolbox and slamming it shut in fury. He didn't know what he was angry about. His son running away and not taking responsibility for his actions, or the fact that his life could come tumbling down in a mille-second if Lionel knew the teenager's covert. Looking at him a little confused at what he just did, Clark quickly looked behind him once more at the wall, then back at his father, who was beginning to walk away from the sight and causing him to do the same thing with his hands falling down to his side.   
  
"I'm starting to wonder what he really knows about me." He said, unexpectedly seeing his father stop in his tracks and turn around, exhaling lightly and placing his hand on his son's shoulder, staring him in the eyes and ignoring what he saw. Behind the brave, courageous shield he had on was a side of the boy he never remembered seeing. A weak, vulnerable child wanting to curl up in a ball and cry his eyes out, while waiting for his worst nightmare to come true. And the second he saw that, he immediately blocked it out of his mind, never to think about it again.   
  
"Clark," Exhaling loudly and bowing his head for a second, he gulped loudly and then darted his eyebrows up, gazing into the greenish blue eyes that were in front of him as he spoke with a fake, shrewd tone. "We've managed to stay one step ahead of Lionel Luthor so far, why don't you just…focus on the people close to home, okay?" Jonathan told him, nodding his head and taking his hand of his son's shoulder while walking out of the barn, feeling better that he had dropped the subject that he didn't want to talk about. He felt better about something he shouldn't feel good about. He ignored the fear he saw in his son.   
  
As Clark stood silently with a stressful expression, he took to heart what his father had said. He still needed to talk to his friends and try to make up with them for what he had done. And he knew just who to go to first.  
  
--------------   
  
Early evening time roamed around Metropolis, the busy city getting ready for the night time that was coming while creating a darkness in the clouds in the sky. Down in a large building were two men standing quietly as one of them waited for the other to finish their task. Pouring thick yellow and red liquid into a glass was Lionel Luthor, who smiled as he handed it over to his friend, which just caused this man to dart his eyebrows down and bring the clear cup to his eyes to query at what it actually was.   
  
"I like scotch. What is this?" Morgan Edge asked, lowering it from his eyes as Lionel chuckled, shaking his head some while pouring himself some of the drink, afterwards instantly bringing it up in the air and grinning the smile that would always make chills crawl up peoples spin. The beam had wickedness written all over it, something that most people did not enjoy seeing when their life finally came together and everything was happy again.   
  
"It's our old special--a suicide." Lionel answered, watching his old-time-friend nod his head and also bring his glass up, clinking it against the others as the two toasted to ancient companionship. Taking a sip of out his, the rich man turned around from the man as he swallowed down the viscous fluid that ran down his throat and entered his system.   
  
"I hope your tastes haven't changed." Lionel alleged, placing the glass down on the table in front of him as he exhaled the taste of the liquor from his mouth. Still holding this glass in his hands, Morgan shook his head and sucked in his lips before sighing and walking around the room, avoiding eye contact with his long time friend for no reason at all.   
  
"Nothing ever changes, Lionel. Not even when you dress it up in a designer suit or a penthouse office." He reminded him, hearing him mumble in a hum while nodding his head as he turned around to face him, his eyes looking directly at him and telling him even if he didn't know it that the conversation was going to turn into something he never would expect. It was something he would always do. Invite someone over, talk about the pleasant things for a while, and then drop the bomb on them very easily in a causal way. In other words, he was carrying on a Luthor tradition.   
  
"Yeah, it's sad the same thing can't be said about friendship." Lionel enlightened him despondently, seeing Morgan nod his head and pop his lips silently. Obviously, the man did not know where the conversation was going, and that heated him up. Grabbing a light brown file from the table that also had his glass on it, he extended his arm out to his companion with a leer that he only held when he had something against someone.   
  
"I kind of expected you had an inside contact, but I have to hand it to you, very creative." Looking at him confused for a second, Morgan took the file and opened it up, chuckling lightly when he saw a picture of him talking to Helen Bryce, who was now Helen Luthor and no longer the widow of Lex. Sighing and about to wave it off, he listened to the voice of his wealthy comrade fill his ears as he continued to stare at the photo that was taken.   
  
"Buying off my daughter-in-law. That's even low for you, Morgan." Lionel admitted, sitting down in the chair behind him as he placed his arms on the armrest of the leather seat, staring at his friend, who chuckled again and shrugged callously.   
  
"Oh, well…" Morgan said with sigh, watching Lionel nod his head at his reply as he leaned forward in the chair and placed his hands on his knees so he could rest his chin on his hands and rub it with an inquired expression.   
  
"All right, all right, let me guess, let me guess. The idea was to steal the vial and send it back to me at a health mark-up, right?" Lionel asked, smiling slightly when he knew what the answer was going to be. That vial of blood was like a treasure to him. He knew that his friend knew that too. He also knew that his friend was a mob boss, so that was immediately what he would do. Sitting down also, Morgan licked his lips and hesitated for a second before turning his head over to Lionel and darting one of his eyebrows up with a sneer.   
  
"And what if I said no?" Shooting his eyebrows up in confusion, Lionel felt his mouth open up a little so the saliva on his tongue could go dry and cause him to feel desiccation while he sat in unnoticeable shock. At first he thought the man was joking, a tease he was just pulling on him as he waited for the 'yes, that's what I was going to do' to come out of his mouth. However, when the minuet was over, he saw that in his friend's appearance he was being absolutely serious.   
  
Stumbling mutely at first, he tried to find the right comeback to those words, and before the seconds were over, he did. "Then I would speculate on where this is going." Lionel informed him, sounding like he didn't even overcome the stagger that was still lingering in his body as he looked deeply into his eyes, in spite of the significant search for the gag he was playing on him. He couldn't have stolen the blood he held so preciously because he wanted it himself. That vial held the rest of his future. It couldn't be true. But when the gray-haired man slipped on a smile that he felt anger to, he knew it was true.   
  
"Where is this going Morgan?" He mandated, wanting to seem confuse and not knowing what was going on, but instead, the rage that was shooting through his veins stopped that from even coming out in a slight tone. Licking his lips, Morgan shifted positions after he placed his glass down on the table next to Lionel's, exhaling and popping his lips loudly while looking outside at the darkness that was conquering the sun. It was only six thirty and already it was dark. Subsequently the weather wasn't the only thing that was surprising tonight.   
  
"Maybe I had my own intentions to why I…embezzled that vial Lionel. And if I did…" Getting up from the seat and stuffing his hands in his pockets, he headed towards the door that was on the left side of the room, taking one hand out to grab the doorknob as he twisted it with a jerk.   
  
"The only person who is going to know about it is me." Morgan told him, about to open the door when he heard the sound of the man getting up from his seat and walking over to him with a slight run, knowing that a phone call to him to find out what was going on wasn't what he wanted. He wasn't leaving that room without an explanation to what he was saying.   
  
"You understand I can charge you with breaking and entering in a moments noticed, don't you Morgan?" Lionel asked him, wondering if he actually knew that since he did break into his office. Turning around to be only mere inches away from his friend, he simply nodded his head, smiling while doing so and getting the rich man even more confused. First, he started saying stuff without even a hint of what he was trying to tell him, and now, he was making it seem like he was crazy by what he was doing.   
  
"Yes." He replied plainly, opening the door since his hand was still on the knob as he felt the cool air from the hallway brush against his back. "But there's nothing against me if I don't even have the vial now, is there?" Morgan simpered when he saw Lionel's reaction, not helping the small chuckle that came out of his mouth. Truth was, he didn't have the vial, and he couldn't give a damn either. He had all the information he needed to do what he needed to do. Turning around and taking one step out of the room, he suddenly felt a hand grabbed his shoulder and spin him back around where he face his friend who long, blackish hair and a slight bead a foot away from him so it didn't seem like he was harassing the man.   
  
"Morgan, where is the blood?" Lionel demanded, feeling Morgan grab his hand and take it off his shoulder, dusting off his black suit jacket afterwards as silence echoed in their ears, his delay to talk allowing Lionel to take a second to catch his breath and not panic. It also gave Morgan the chance to laugh in his mind at the fear he was putting in the rich man's stomach. Licking his lips again, he tilted his head to the side and took a step back inconspicuous, looking at the ground for a second before bringing his eyes up and changing his look from knowing it all, to making it seem like he wanted Lionel to know what he knew.   
  
"What if I told you that the purpose of even having that vial in the first place is useless because the being the person the blood belongs to is dead…or will soon be?" He asked deliberately, both stared into each other's eyes while Lionel looked for the answer he longed for. Was he trying to say that he not only knew who the blood belonged to, but that he was going to throw away all the money he could have and all the fame he could endure by killing that person? Slipping on a grin, he took another step back and sniffed slightly, waving his hand to some extent while Lionel continued to stand in disbelief.   
  
"Have a nice day Lionel. Don't be a stranger." Morgan said, turning around and walking out of the room with a body full of glee and a vice beam planted on his face. In a matter of hours, his plan was going to all come together. And no one could stop him…no one.   
  
To be Continued…


	3. Fighting with a friend

The sun slowly set down in Smallville as beautiful orange, yellow, and red colors swirled around in the sky and created a masterpiece no artist could ever invent or design with a typical paintbrush. Down inside a yellow farmhouse and inside the kitchen was a red haired wife and mother sitting down in a chair and reading a book that was placed in her hands as sweet wind blew in her face from the open window across from her. It was a wonderful evening for a regular Friday era as peaceful silence flowed around in the room she sat in and filled her ears with tranquility.

Suddenly though, the screen door to the right of her opened up to show a six foot three brown haired teenage boy wearing a red flannel shirt and blue jeans come walking through with a sigh fleeing his mouth. "Hey mom, I'm going down to go see Pete. I should be back soon." Clark told her, walking over to the fridge and swinging it open so he could bend down and grab a soda from the bottom shelf. Standing back up with a straight posture, he strolled back over to where the entrance was as he opened up the coke can with his finger, hearing it release with a snap and sizzle with a crackle.

"Okay sweetie." Martha replied, her eyes still glued to the paperback in front her as she waited for the sound of the door to open up again and then squeal shut. The sound never came. Looking up from the novel, she titled her head to the side when she saw her son still standing there, his arms placed to his side as he had the can placed somewhat to his lips while he stared off in space. It wasn't long until he came back however, exhaling and

looking over at his mother with a slight frown that made her curious to what was going on.

"Mom," He simply began, silence echoing in the room for about thirty seconds until he turned his head over to her while leaning against the wooden post next to him. "Can I ask you something?" Clark inquired, watching her place the tome aside and sit up in the chair she sat in, licking her lips as she stared right into the boy's eyes to see what was going to happen next or truly pay attention to what he had to say.

"Sure honey, anything." Martha answered, hearing him sigh once more as he shifted positions with his feet and gaze without blinking to whatever was in front of him. Again, he gawked into his own world, thoughts flowing into his mind that she could not hear or understand since he was his own self and not in her head. Sometimes she wished that she did understand the boy. Not because he was confusing or anything like that, but mostly since his life was so complicated, she just wanted to know how to be there for him. Snapping his neck over so his face was looking at hers abruptly, the teen bowed his eyes to the ground as he continued to rest his side on the stake.

"Were you mad…that I ran away?" Clark asked her desolately, crocking his head to the side as Martha sighed sadly, her shoulders dropping at the question as she kept her eyes locked on the boy wretchedly. Obviously, what he did was getting to him not only by the query, but by the way he was acting. She did not grasp it at times. He had made a mistake and everyone accepted it and forgave him for it. Or at least had his family. Either way, it should be in the past and not something he should feel guiltily about. Darting her eyebrows up, she shook her head and placed her arms on the table, crossing and leaning in to them while keeping her sight on her son.

"I was sad, but not angry Clark. Sometimes people just need their own personal time to figure things out on their own, and to do that, you needed to get away." Martha informed him, watching his chest exhale air as he got up from resting on the post and saunter over to the table where he pulled a chair out and sat down in it while setting the coke can aside. As he did, he couldn't help the words that flew out of his mouth and into his mother's ears.

"I ran from my problems though." Clark reminded her, the painful memories of what happened three months ago forcing to come back into his mind. He pushed them back even if he still thought about it and kept his focus on the woman in front of him, who shook her head at his words while grabbing his hand gently and rubbing the skin with her thumb tenderly.

"Clark, everyone does that. Don't think just because your troubles are bigger then everyone else's that you didn't have the excuse to escape from them." Martha said, staring into his greenish blue eyes that were flowing with care, concern, friendliness, and just a boy who wanted to get out into the real world. She knew how much he hated his secret. She knew how much he hated keeping that secret, secret. From time to time, she wished she could take all his pain away because of how much it was killing him.

When he was growing up, instead of being able to kiss his knee when he got a scrap, she would hold him close as he cried because a school bully called him a freak. Never did he physically get hurt. It was always his secret that would emotionally kill him. Things had changed since then. He was now seventeen and living his own life. When someone knew his secret, she couldn't hold him close and let him cry - he dealt with it himself. His life was so hard to value and appreciate at times for that reason.

"Why do you ask anyway?" The mother questioned, seeing him bow his head and slowly pull away from her kind grip so he could place his head in his hands and shake it back and forth. He did not want to worry the woman with his tribulations, however, he knew when it came to her, there was no way he could escape her wrath of questions. She always found a way to make him come clean even after he lied.

"I don't know. It just seems like everyone is going to be upset that I left." Clark told her, knowing that his two female friends were not going to be easy to handle. One of them had came to his apartment during his months of escape, and the other he left behind and then saw again three months later only to take her to a night club. Running his hands down his face, he sighed and rested his chin on his palms, his elbows on the table now as Martha rubbed his arm that was covered in a red plaid shirt sympathetically.

"Pete's your friend honey. You two have known each other your whole life. I'm sure that he out of all people will understand that you…needed to get away. Now, I can't speak for Chloe and Lana." She reminded him, also knowing that the girls were going to be harder to speak to about this then his long time friend. Nodding his head that was still in his hands, he stared vacantly at the fruit basket in front of him, not daring to blink as he felt the rub of the hand on his limb.

"I think I'm going to have to let them have their own space for a while. Clark said, seeing through the corner of his eyes his mother nod her head at his words. It wasn't that females were less easy to handle, it was just the fact that he knew Pete all his life like the woman had said. He would understand that he needed to get away. He also knew the secret that no one else knew. Well, at least his other friends didn't know. The point was he could to take it easier then everyone else.

"That might be best." Martha assumed, watching him nod his head again as she looked out the window, seeing the sun almost done setting and dark clouds slowly overtaking the different colors that roamed around. "You'd better get going before it gets dark though Clark." Turning his head over to the window, he sighed and bounced it up and down, seeing that it was getting dark and he still had a lot to do before he went to sleep for the night. Miserably getting up from his chair and pushing it back in, he forced a slanted smile on his face, which just looked like a smashed frown as he ran his hands down his face one more time.

"Your right." He mumbled, his chest going up and then down heavily as he slowly moved his feet over to the door. When he did, Martha suddenly titled her head to the side and darted her eyebrows down solely because of the way he looked. As he walked he slumped, and his face looked tired and exhausted with one more expression that she knew couldn't be true. Did he actually look…scared?

"Clark?" She called out, stopping him in his tracks as he turned around and faced her again, his hand now on the doorknob of the entrance gate as she brought her head up evenly and gulped loudly while she continued to exam him.

"Are you okay?" Martha asked him, her voice coming out in the same motherly tone she used every time she was worried about him. She was worried about him. It hit her then that the feeling that was jumbled up in her stomach wasn't just any old feeling. She only got it when she knew something was wrong. An emotion that made her nauseous and sick at the same time. Looking down at his body for a quick check, the boy nodded his head with a weak smile as he opened up the door.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Clark didn't know if he was telling the truth or lying. He had so much to be anxious about that he didn't know what he was feeling. Happiness, care, fear, or anxiety. Gulping loudly, the mother licked her lips as she stood up straight in the chair, slowly nodding her head at his words while speaking her own.

"You sure? You look…bothered. Like something bad is about to happen." Martha informed him, wondering if he felt the same thing she felt. A mix of alarm and trepidation were rushing through her veins. Strolling his eyes down his body again, Clark shook his head and shrugged before walking out of the door and into the exterior, leaving the mother to sit at the table in thought of what had just happened. Never did she know that might be the last conversation she would ever have with the boy.

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Obscurity wandered around the skies of the urban as dark clouds made their way over the atmosphere and a chill of wind blew in from the heavens. Down at the Ross household, children playing inside the house and lights shining through the windows filled the residence as Friday night officially overtook their senses. Pulling up in the driveway was a red truck, the lights turning off as soon as the engine did while a tall farm boy wearing a red flannel shirt walked out and shut the door after him, his eyes staring at the house in front of him. Sighing and bowing his head, he made his way over to the front porch, forcing his stone legs to move at the hesitation that was filling his body.

Eventually though, he made his way to the entrance, bringing his hand up and balling it into a fist as he knocked on the door four times before he heard the sound of chairs squealing and a familiar voice enter his ears. As he chewed on his lip, less then five seconds went by he stood at the veranda until the dark green entry opened up to show a shorter African American boy stand with a surprised face when he saw who it was.

"Hey." Clark weakly said, his voice coming out quiet when he saw the reaction his friend held. Looking behind him at his family for a second, the other teen took a step forward and shut the door while the other teen stepped back so he could come onward. After he did, he simply placed his arms to his chest and leaned his back against the gateway.

"A little far from your new home, aren't we Clark?" Pete inquired with a sharp, angry tone, looking at him for an answer impatiently as he sighed and bowed his head, seeing immediately that he was infuriated. Unlike what he had hoped would happen, he saw that he was going to have to converse his way out of this one, and even if the glare his friend was giving him felt like a thousand knives stabbing his stomach, he had no choice but to look him in the eyes and shrug despondently.

"Pete, I am so sorry for what I did. Can we just put this thing in the past and get on with our friendship?" Clark asked him, staring in his eyes with a look that detained regret and repentant as Pete dropped his jaw, his eyes shooting open wide as he let out a disgusted sigh at his words. Every movement he made sent fear rushing down Clark's spine, even his inhales scaring him as he shook his head and bit his bottom lip.

"Friendship? You call leaving your friend behind a friendship!?" He exclaimed, his teeth clutched together and feeling like they were about to break as the other boy stumbled at first, completely taken aback at his outburst as he continued shaking his head.

"Dude, it's the fact that you didn't even think about talking it out with me that upsets me the most. I've always been there for you, and in return you run away because you were a coward!" Pete shouted, the racket and clamor from inside his house making it so no one but the boy in front of him could hear him, who was standing with his mouth cracked open and his eyes floating with hurt and distress.

"Pete…I-I never knew-" Cutting him off, he rolled his eyes and stood up straight from leaning against the door while his friend resumed stumbling.

"You never knew I felt that way. How typical. The high and mighty Clark Kent can go and pay every speck of attention to Lana Lang and save her precious live but he can't even take a second to worry about the brother he's known his whole life." A lump in his throat now cutting him off from talking, Clark felt his mind stop working as he stood silent; the only sound that was heard was an owl hooting and kids fooling around from inside the quarters. One question floated around the teen's mind though as he tried to find the right words to say. Why didn't he tell him all this before? He had the chance. It didn't make sense at all.

"Pete, can't we just work this out?" Clark queried, the words the only thing he found left in his head. Popping his lips together and making the sound of saliva against skin, Pete chuckled and shook his head, shifting positions on his feet and sighing a lung full of air from his chest.

"That's your solution to everything, isn't it Clark? Let's just work it out. Forget it all happened. Forget that you left your best friend behind to think about if you really are my pal at all. Do you know how many times I thought that you're just using me man? Do you!?" He yelled, shoving his head in his hands and forcing his back against the door simply to get all his anger out. Obviously, no words could explain the rage he felt that very moment. Grabbing his shoulders gently, his friend tried to keep him still, but instead he pushed him away and walked over to the other side next to the bushes away from him.

"Let's talk about this Pete!" Clark told him, raising his voice so he made him know that he was being serious. Rolling his tongue around in his mouth, Pete licked his lips and nodded his head after he sniffed back the tears in his eyes, gulping loudly and darting his eyebrows up sarcastically while Clark stared at him sincerely.

"Talk about it? You want to talk about it?" He asked him, seeing him merely nod his head as he took a step forward and threw his hands up in the air. "Okay then, let's talk about it. Let's talk about how you not only didn't think that your best friend would be there for you and 'talk it out' but how you left me here with a huge burden!" Pete retorted, his voice getting louder by the second at the anger that was flowing through his body. Confused at all this though, the farm boy did not have a clue at what was going on anymore. He came here three minutes ago and suddenly now he was in a fight with his comrade. He thought he would be the easy one to deal with.

"W-what are you saying Pete?" Clark staggered, running his fingers through his hair as his friend looked away with a loud exhale through his grunted teeth and shook his head furiously.

"I'm saying your secret sucks man!" Pete yelled, throwing his hands in his face as he ignored the confused expression he held. "I was left here, alone, knowing that someone could come storming through my house and kill me because I knew that you're different! You left me here to carry that responsibility man. I will say it now that I will always hate you for that." He choked out, shaking his head as Clark's eyes went wide and water started to flow around in puddles. When he tried to speak, his chin quivered, and no words came out as he stood in shock. As soon as he did regain his voice, he felt like crying instead of talking though.

"Pete-" Shaking his head again, Pete opened up the door with his hand behind him and on the doorknob as a large lump formed in his throat and made him sniff loudly. "Always." He strongly said before walking inside his house. Taking two steps forward to get in the house, the door suddenly slammed right in front of his face, leaving Clark to stand in pure shock of what had just happened. To stand startled at the last words Pete might ever speak to him….

To be Continued…


	4. Echo of a gunshot

Morning time traveled along Smallville as a start of a beautiful weekend filled the citizen's senses. The sun was shinning brightly against the pure white, fluffy clouds in the sky as warm air flowed around in the atmosphere while a slight breeze would blow by every now and then. Down at the Kent farm and at the bottom of the red barn was Clark Kent, who had his hands placed down on a tool table and his arms leaning slanted so it looked like he was trying to push the table into the ground. It was in the early hours of the sunup, the time around nine o'clock as the boy stood silently where he was, not daring to move or even sigh while he remained in thought.

The words that his best friend had said to him last night were still lingering in his mind. He hated him. Not even that had sunk in yet. They had known each other all their life, been through everything together and now, he even knew his secret, and then suddenly those words were said and floating in his head. If he hadn't taken it easy, then he wasn't even going to think about seeing the girls until at least a week or two. Hearing them say they hated him too would be too much for him to manage and take in all at the same time. When did his life suddenly become so complicated? He remembered the days were he could go to school and just be himself without having to worry so much.

Sighing against his will and closing his eyes gently, Clark could abruptly hear the noise of footsteps walking into the shed and getting closer to his body as he gulped loudly and bowed his head down to were his hands were. "You all right son?" Knowing whom it was immediately, the teen exhaled again and merely nodded his head, shifting positions on his feet and opening his eyes so he could stare down at the wooden bench in front of him.

"Just thinking." He simply uttered, seeing through the corner of his eye his father tilt his head to the side and stuff his hands in his pockets despondently. The man could see just by looking at the boy's face that something was wrong, and since he did not know what it was, he had no choice but to ask the question that soon fell out of his lips and flew into Clark's hearing.

"About what?" Jonathan inquired, taking a step forward so was right behind his son as Clark licked his lips and continued to gaze down at the back of his tan hands.

"How much my life sucks." The farm boy told him, ignoring the irritated sigh he heaved and the hand that left his shoulder while the father rolled his eyes at his words and tried to hold back the retort that was threatening to come. Sometimes he was aggravated by his son's words about his secret. He knew it was a burden to carry, but it was just something he was going to have to deal with and get use to.

"Clark, you know that's not true." Jonathan informed him, without hesitation feeling him spin around and dart his eyebrows down as he gaped his mouth open forlornly. "How would you know? Anyone could come here and kill you guys just because they know I'm different. Do you know what it feels like to walk around knowing that every day of my life?" Clark asked despondently, waiting two seconds until he saw the older man nod his head with a somewhat know it all expression.

"Yes, I do Clark. Your mother and I have to worry about some FBI freaks come bursting through our door and killing us just to get you as well, you know." He reminded him, the sudden dispute they were having surprising him as he tried to make his words come out nice and softly, but instead having them harsh and ruthless. Jonathan hated it when his son talked about this stuff. It was always either he felt guilty or that he reviled the onus he carried. Coming to realization a minute after he said those words, the boy stood up straight and placed his arms to his chest miserably.

"Then why did you even keep me in the first place?" The question stroke Jonathan like a ton of bricks as Clark stood waiting for an answer. At first, the father didn't know what to say. The real answer was that they loved him and that he was their son, however, in his mind during that moment he felt a blank space hovering around. The anger that was in his body was overtaking any other feeling so remorse, love, anxiety, or even concern couldn't come in. It left him no choice but to sigh and shoot his eyebrows up.

"I think you know that answer son." Jonathan said, leaving the boy to stand silent for a second as he exhaled heavily and ran his hands down his face, leaning his back against the table and closing his eyes when he took in what his father had spoken. It didn't change the way he felt though. Even if his parents loved him, that love could never take away the nuisance he experienced when it came to his clandestine.

"My secret has caused nothing but pain and misery to everyone's life dad. Pete hates me because I ran away, Lana probably won't even talk to me anymore, and Chloe's just a whole other story. Maybe I was better off in Metropolis after all." Clark supposed, remembering feeling so relaxed and unperturbed when he was on 'his drug' during those three months. He never had to worry about what he did or what was coming next as he just had fun. What he had said made his father more annoyed though as he snarled slightly and shook his head while he grabbed his son's shoulders and made him face him so he was looking him in the eye.

"Clark, running away from your problems isn't always the answer. You don't seem to understand that son!" Jonathan shouted, the second he was done with his words feeling Clark pull away from his grip and take a step back away from the table and away from him. Throwing his hands up in the air, he growled loudly and brought his head up to his father's view so he could see the seriousness that he held.

"I'm only seven-teen dad! I don't want the weight of the world on my shoulders anymore." He told him, instead of seeing the man walk up to him and hug him like his mother would do or even just pat him on the shoulder, he stood where he was and shrugged at his words.

"You don't exactly have a choice Clark. You think it's easier for me to keep all this a secret? Trust me, it isn't. You can't just run away because it's too much. You don't know what the consequences are when you do!" Jonathan exclaimed, knowing that it was harder for him to keep the secret underhanded, which was the reason he was yelling at the boy that very moment. Sighing and placing his arms back to his chest as if he was cold; he looked away to the right side of him and gulped loudly as he avoided any eye contact with his father.

"I think I've figured that out already." Clark muttered to himself, hearing the man walk forwards him as he nodded his head and licked his lips heatedly.

"Have you? Have you figured out how hard it was without you? Clark, we've lost the farm because you suddenly decided you couldn't handle your problems!" Jonathan bellowed at him, about five inches near the boy's face as he instantly got his attention from his words. Leisurely turning his head over to him and letting his arms fall down to his side, he felt his eyes widen and his mouth part open while the saliva inside started to dry.

"So all I am to you is a farm tool? Is that the real reason why you kept me?" Clark queried, watching Jonathan exhale air through his teeth as he closed his eyes tightly for a second to control his anger when he balled his hand into a fist to keep himself from doing anything rash. Fighting with his son was the last thing he wanted to do to start the day off, and as he slowly opened up his sight to see the boy staring at him for a reply, he felt his fingernails dig into the palm of his hand.

"Clark, don't start!" He demanded, his voice firm and loud as for a second, the teen thought about dropping the situation. But as soon as he did, he pushed the consideration aside and leaned his body on his other foot as he looked deeply at the man for an answer to the inquiry he was speculating.

"Start what? Telling the truth? You only kept me because I'm the glue that holds your farm together, isn't it?" Clark wondered, feeling the man slowly place his hands on his shoulders as he looked into his greenish blue eyes, which caused him tighten his grip when he only saw the same anger that he held. Less then four minutes after he comes inside the barn he's having a brawl with his son and it questioned him extremely to the point where he just wanted to leave the place as soon as he could.

"Clark, I love you…." He said, trailing off into silence as he lowered his head and then brought it inconsolably only to speak wretchedly.

"But right now we have more important things to worry about than your every problem and need." Jonathan enlightened him, taking his hands of his shoulders and turning around so he could take two steps forward and see the sun outside beam down on his body. Before he was even close to the shed entrance though to leave, an unexpected murmur filled his ears and stopped him in his tracks right away.

"I was right to listen to Jor-EL." Clark mumbled, his head looking to the right when he heard the loud footsteps of his father come rushing into his ears so as soon as he blinked, he was in front of him with an angry face and a wound up temper.

"You did not listen to Jor-EL, son. You put on a red Kryptonite ring and ran away from your plights-you did the farthest thing from listening to him! Now, if I were you, I'd start worrying about cleaning up the mess you already made! Because of your actions we have to worry about Lionel knowing your secret now." Jonathan hollered at him when instantaneously Clark's jaw dropped open and he threw his hands up in the air again only this time, baffled at the older man's words.

"Since when was that my fault!?" He exclaimed, his voice coming out as a loud roar as his father pointed his finger in his face furiously.

"Since the day you became friends with Lex!" Jonathan informed him, yelling even louder as the clash got more lurid or crueler, showing so with words and actions they did.

"Why are you always bringing him into this dad? He did nothing-" Cutting Clark off, Jonathan bit his lower lip and balled his hands into fist, trying to control what the fury was doing to him however, not succeeding. "He's on his father side trying to find out that your different Clark! Ever since they day he hit you with his car." He told him, the echo of his words filling the barn with how brassy he was becoming while the boy simply titled his head to the side deliberately.

"Lex isn't trying to find out my secret, your just trying to blame him for something he hasn't done." Clark defended, as soon as he finished speaking seeing his father sigh infuriately when he took two steps back and threw his hands up in the air in antagonism.

"Fine Clark, your right! I am blaming him for this. You want to know the real reason I am mad at you? It's not only because you ran away and didn't take fault for what you did, but when you did run away, you didn't even bother to take responsibility for what you did!" Jonathan shouted, relating to all the robbery's his son did and even stealing his own blood from a rich and powerful man. Sick and tired of fighting, the teen felt his face relax to a soft and regretful expression as he blew air through his cheeks dejectedly.

"And I've apologized for that! Dad, please-" Stopping him from talking again, the father sighed and shook his head as he put his hand up in the air dismally.

"No. No, I'm not in the mood Clark. Go complain to someone who cares." Jonathan said, turning around and placing both of his arms down to his side as silence flowed around him, the only clamor was the sound of his shoes walking on the ground. The rage that was running through his body had taken control of him, and he knew it the second he put his back to his son's face. Just as he had taken five simple steps away from the boy though, a sudden, earsplitting gunshot filled his ears and immediately making him spin around in shock from the noise to find his son standing with three fingers feebly placed to his stomach and his eyes staring blankly in front of him.

"Dad." Clark faintly whispered with a shaky voice before his eyes shut against his will and everything around him went black.

To be Continued…


	5. Revenge

"Clark!" Jonathan exclaimed, running over to the boy just as he was about to hit the ground and catching him with his arm around his back in fright. "Clark! Clark, answer me son." With his voice trembling in shock, Jonathan fell down to one knee with the weight in his hands, leisurely lowering the fallen teen down to the ground as his eyes stared at the blood that was seeping through the blue flannel shirt. It was two inches from his stomach and about an inch from his chest, so it was right in the middle of the two. It didn't take long for him to realize that he wasn't even conscious though. With his head dangling on the back of his wrist and his eyelids shut gently, he took notice of the fact that his son's face was a white as a ghost and almost a shade of blue and green mixed together.   
  
"Oh god, no. Clark…no, answer me Clark. Answer me!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs, his arms shaking violently as gradually the motionless body hit the ground when the father felt his limbs go numb. He wasn't breathing. His son wasn't breathing. Blood poured out of his stomach while his chest refused to move. He couldn't be gone. All this had happened so soon and so sudden the man didn't even have time to think. There Clark was, his face white and his lips azure while a bullet wound was placed on his abdomen, and his lifeless corpse resting on the floor with an arm around his back. He was…  
  
"No!" Jonathan shouted, water falling down out of his eyes as he cried heavily, bending over and stuffing his head in his son's chest as his loud sobs echoed the barn. In less then a minute the boy he watched grow up in front of his eyes, the boy he had fishing trips with and watched eat lunch of the living room floor when he was a kid went from standing behind him to on the ground unresponsive and not breathing. His last words to him would be that he didn't care about the way he felt or what was going on in his life. Weeping even louder and raspier, the man grabbed the teen's limp hand and held it to his face, tears sliding down his cheeks and his already red and puffy eyes.  
  
"No…Clark, please answer me. Please talk to me." Jonathan cried, running his other hand down Clark's soft, cold cheeks as he closed his eyes tightly when he felt his fingers reach the back of his neck. Two seconds went by in pure, tensed peace while he remained frozen and sat where he was with an inert hand in his palm and his fingers placed on the collar of the motionless adolescent on the ground. He couldn't help the hoarse gasp that escaped his lips when he didn't feel a pulsation though. Burying his face in Clark's unmoving chest once again, he sobbed rowdily while he choked out each cry as if he wasn't in control of his actions.   
  
"I'm sorry son. I'm so, so sorry!" He cried with his hands balled up together and his fingernails about to break through the tough skin as he continued to cry. Time went by with this scene too. His legs were numb and his arms were like a statue as he wailed like never before with his face in his son's chest, getting the shirt he wore wet with his tears and sticky, red liquid on his arms or hands when he went by the stomach, which was spurting with blood. However, an abrupt voice cut him off guard, stopped his crying instantly when it flew into his ears, and made him slowly lift his head up.  
  
"He saw it coming." Turning his neck over slowly and pushing his tears into the back of his eyes, Jonathan saw a man with white hair, glasses and a black suit standing over by the shed entrance but still in the middle of the barn, a sliver gun in his hand and a smile on his face. Anger surged through his veins when he saw him. It wasn't the anger that he felt towards his son less then five minutes ago while he stared at the older male who was chuckling to himself. No, this anger was a fury that made him want to kill the man -- a rage of revenge that took over his body.   
  
"You bastard. You did this to him!" Jonathan yelled, letting go of the limp hand and pulling his arm out from under the boy's back as he ran over to the stranger, his hand in a fist as he lunged it back and threw it right in his face. After he did, the man stumbled back while he held his eye, letting go of the gun and allowing it to fall down to the ground while nearly bumping into the ranch equipment behind him as he straightened his position and smiled once again. It made more ire rush into the angry father's veins and cause him to attack once again, this time grabbing his jacket by the shoulders and swinging him around to knock him into the wall.  
  
"Who the hell are you!?" Jonathan roared in his face, his glasses cracked and titled to the side as he grinned with ferocity and chortled at the vehemence that was running through the younger man's body.   
  
"Morgan Edge. Not that it matters now, does it? And you know, from what I heard, you should be dancing in joy that your son's dead right now. You didn't even care enough to listen about what was going on in his life." Laughing at his own words, Edge threw his head back and cackled when suddenly, Jonathan swung him around yet again and threw him onto the floor a few feet away from him so he could storm up to him while he tried to get away with his hands on the ground. As he did, he glanced behind him a few times, using his palms to move his body and his feet to scoot him across the flooring to get away from the livid father.   
  
"How did you find out?" He queried, still walking up to him when Morgan didn't answer, getting him more mad and causing him to bend down and clutch his black jacket once more to lift him up off the ground.   
  
"How did you find out damn it!?" Jonathan shouted, the water drying on his cheeks but still showing as his expression was now full of anger and vengeance for what he had done to the boy. At first confused, the older man gulped loudly and shrugged before leaning his head to the side and seeing what he actually wanted to know.  
  
"Find out what? That he's a freak? Oh, that's easy Mr. Kent. Your son there had a problem of keeping his weakness a secret." Morgan told him, knowing that he didn't in fact tell him what he wanted to know however, giving him an answer to the question that was burning inside of him. How could he shot his invulnerable son in an instant? With his lips now quivering, the father gulped down the lump in his throat and inhaled shakily as he loosened his grip on the jacket.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Jonathan asked him, feeling Edge take advantage of his shocked state by pulling away from his grasp and taking a small amount of steps back and away from him while through the corner of his eye he could see the deceased cadaver of Clark a few feet away from the both of them. It was still far away enough to where you didn't feel the urge to gag though. His blue flannel shirt was now dark red in the middle of his chest and stomach and his face was now as white as snow with cobalt lips. Either way, it was a sickening sight. Any murder was a sickening sight.  
  
"One of his robberies. A female police officer was wearing a green bracelet. A certain, green bracelet." Morgan informed him, smiling when he saw Jonathan's eyes go wide and his air get stuck in his throat.   
  
"Just imagine how surprised I was when found out that it was the meteor rocks you hicks have scattered all over this place. I couldn't help but ask my self though…why does a man so strong get so weak around a simple green rock? Then I realized…it doesn't matter! As long as it kills him, I'm good." Edge said, chuckling malevolently as he struck the father's last nerve, making him dash towards him and throw him back on the ground so he could punch him in the fact repeatedly.  
  
"You sick man. You killed a seventeen-year-old boy! You killed my son!" Jonathan snarled, hitting him again and forcing him to turn his head over to the other side as suddenly brought his hand up and hastily hit him on the cheek hard, giving him the chance to get away and from his clutch. As he held his left side of his face in ache, Edge scattered over to the other side of the barn and ripped off his now completely broken glasses with a guffaw.  
  
"And proud of it." Morgan's words finally drew Jonathan's last nerve, making him lunged forward and punch him again as the two battled physically in the barn. Meanwhile however, outside was an African American boy, wearing light sapphire shirt and matching jeans as he had his hands stuck deep inside his pockets and his head bowed down to the ground. For him, he had no idea what was going on inside the hangar.  
  
Sighing loudly, Pete blew air through his cheeks as he moved his feet across the dirt road, kicking the grime while the shinning sun beamed down on his back. It was around nine-thirteen in the morning of a beautiful Saturday, a wonderful breeze blowing by as his eyelids wanted to close and let him sleep. It was still summer vacation, so sleeping in was all he wanted to do. But the teen hadn't slept all night with guilt in his stomach because of what he had said to his friend the other night. That was why he was at the Kent farm in the first place. Stopping by the kitchen first, he went to go see if his taller comrade was inside eating breakfast with his parents, but instead he got the boy's mother to tell him that the boy he was looking for was out in the barn with his father.   
  
Rapidly stopping in his tracks when he heard the sound of yelling and fighting though, he darted his eyebrows down and moved bit-by-bit as he grabbed the post to the red barn doorway to see what was going on. "What the-" Pete mumbled, listening closely and realizing that one of the voices was familiar. Sticking his head in to see whom it was, his eyes went wide and a jumble of panic rolled around in his stomach when he saw Jonathan Kent and a stranger literally beating each other up, and it wasn't long until he spotted the lifeless body on the floor across from them.  
  
"Clark!" He whispered against the shouting that was filling his ears, rushing inside and over to the motionless boy who was on the ground, one hand by his side and the other sprawled out. Falling down to his knees, Pete immediately picked up his hand and placed two fingers to his wrist, and his face went almost as white as Clark's when he didn't feel a beat. His friend was actually…dead.  
  
Standing up, he fought back the tears in his throat and eyes by biting his lower lip, and as he turned around, he took pure notice of the fight that the father and older man were doing as he ran over to them in hope to at least stop some of the skirmishing they were doing. "Mr. Kent! Mr. Kent, wha--" Trying to get Jonathan off the white haired man, Pete grabbed his arm that was thrown back and in the air while balled up in a tight fist. Struggling to get him away, the young adult could feel his limbs weak and heavy with shock and fear at the sight he had just seen before him, and as he tried his very best to get the farm man off of the unfamiliar person, he could feel strong tears welling up in his eyes and threatening to fall out.   
  
"Mr. Kent, what's going on?" Pete exclaimed, lastly able to get him away from Edge, who crawled away from him and against the nearest wall. With his hand still around his arm, Pete pulled him back some and kept him from running forward and attacking the older man again as Jonathan heaved breaths of air with his chest going up and down heavily. He stood silent with a face full of anger, and it was clearly visible that water was forming up in his sight. Obviously, he knew about the boy behind him and far away from their view. Yanking away from his grip suddenly, he took a step forward from the lad and shook his head heatedly.  
  
"Pete, stay out of this." Jonathan told him, his eyes locked on Morgan as he sniffed loudly, looking around him for a second before seeing the fallen, silver gun smack in the middle of him and Edge. Both looking up at each other, at the same time they leaped onward and onto the ground, their hands touching each other's skin. However, time showing that Jonathan was the one who grabbed the pistol. And immediately, Morgan ran backwards and against the wall once more in fear since he was the one who now had the weapon.   
  
"Mr. Kent, don't!" Pete tried to talk the father out of it as soon as he brought his arm up in the air with the revolver.   
  
"Pete, you heard me. Stay out of this." Jonathan warned him, gulping back the bulge in his throat as he gazed right into Edge's eyes. Ignoring the terror and panic, all he saw was a sick, twisted man who had killed his only son, making it so his last words to him would be in a fight he would regret for the rest of his life. As Pete stood far behind him and Morgan Edge far in front of him, he started to feel his hand and arm shake brutally, and when it did, the male he was fighting with laughed and shook his head.   
  
"You've never killed a man, have you Kent?" Morgan asked him, hearing nothing but stillness echo in his ears as he chuckled once again when he knew the answer.   
  
"What makes now so different, huh? If you've never murdered someone before, what makes the chances of you doing it now so certain?" He inquired, titling his head to the side, as the man didn't reply right away. While Pete looked at him petrified and worried, he simply stood still, the firearm in his hands shaking more as it was up in the air, and discreetly he placed his finger on the trigger.   
  
"I've lost something I loved because of you." Jonathan informed him, and in a split second, the sound of gunfire filled their ears. "That's how." He simply said, lowering the gun from view so he could watch the old man go wide-eyed and slowly slump to the ground with a bullet wound in his heart. And in silence, Jonathan and Pete stared at the dead body of Morgan Edge.  
  
To be Continued…


	6. In a rush to save a life

Pure, utter silence echoed the barn of the Kent farm where Jonathan stood frozen in his spot with his arm in the air and a gun in his hand. His eyes refused to blink as he stared simply in front of him where the dead body of Morgan Edge laid slumped down on the ground, blood dripping from his black suit jacket and down onto the ground from his chest where his heart was. And while Jonathan stood there unmoving, hardly even breathing himself, he tried to take in what had recently happened. He had just killed a man. Took away someone's life in a second-degree murder. He knew it was something that would lay on his conscious for eternality while he held the gun in his hands, his fingers still on the trigger and his arm arched now to the wall that was ahead of him.

He had just killed a man. He slaughtered someone all because they killed his only son. His son was gone. That thought had entered his mind once again and made him close his eyes gently with tears welling up in them. Clark was gone--killed. That man had found out his lone, deadly weakness and made it into a bullet so he could shot him to death. His lungs suddenly cut off air and he could feel himself about to break down. The little boy who had grown up into a teenager and then a young man over the years was departed. He would never see him again. Never see the bright smile he grinned or hear him laugh the chortle that made him beam happiness. He was dead, and because of that, he let anger overtake him.

He had just killed a man. With a handgun in his palm, he had committed homicide for the reason that his son was lying lifeless on the floor. It was about ten minutes ago he was fighting with the boy, and then when he turned his back, he was dead. Jonathan's hand started shaking as he felt his arm go weak and drop down to his side, the revolver immediately falling to the ground when his fingers unwrapped around it and his head bowed to the flooring below him. Only fate could inform him on what was going to happen next. How was he going to tell people that he not only killed a man, but his son was gone unexpectedly and his life was taken away from him at such a young age?

He had killed a man, and it was over with. All that had happened in that barn was going to be the past before he knew it, and Jonathan would soon forget it all even occurred. And if he didn't, he would make himself do so. In the meantime, while he stood in shock, behind him and like a statue was Pete, whose eyes were wide and his mouth cracked open as he felt his heart beating in fast paces. The father wasn't the only one who was traumatized at the moment. He had came in the shed and found his friend inert by a tool table. The thought that he was trying to push away the best he could made it's way back into his mind, and as soon as it did, the teen put his head in his hands and let out a shaky breaths.

Last night would be his last conversation with his best friend, and it was a conflict. A fight that he would regret for the rest of his life. If he had just come sooner, if he had just entered the barn faster, then he could have stopped it. He could have said he was sorry like he came to do and stopped what had happened. He could have changed the outcome of what happened. But he didn't, and now, two men were dead. Inhaling unsteadily, feeling like his lungs were filled up with water that was making him suffocate in twinge, Pete lifted his head up and saw no change with the father who stood still, making him gulped the loudest he ever did and turn around with all his strength. It felt that like his legs were stone though, and when he finished rotating around, they turned to jelly.

The sight in front of him was sickening-appalling, but most of all, painful to look at. He laid there, dead. No longer alive to the rest of the world. Looking behind him quickly, Pete felt his face crumble up when he saw Jonathan with his head bowed and his arms dangling by his side, meaning he had to be the first one to be brave and look at what they were rebuffing to accept. Slowly, he moved his legs, making sure that he didn't suddenly fall to a face plant in case they abruptly gave up from how numb they were feeling, and with a few large steps, he made his way over to the corpse that was on the wooden ground.

When he tried to take a deep breath to calm himself down there however, he ended up dropping to his knees and yelping deeply when his knees hit the floor. Sighing through his clutched teeth, Pete brought his head up and bit his tongue until it was about to split when he took a good look at the sight that had changed from the last time he looked at it.

There Clark was, his face white and his lips blue with his azure flannel shirt dark red in the middle and soaked with blood while his right arm was sprawled out and his left one was lying gently on the ground. With his eyes shut serenely and his hair drooping to the base yet not touching it, the boy focused his eyes on the one thing that kept him knowing he was unresponsive for good. His chest. It was oozing out more blood by the second and drenching the chemise he wore even more while it didn't move at all, showing that he was breathing. And if he wasn't breathing, his heart was beating, and that meant he was dead. The invulnerable Clark Kent was dead. It was so strange and creepy saying that in his head, almost as if he wouldn't accept it. The boy he had learned came from another planet was lying lifeless on the floor.

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Pete tried to be strong through the moment he felt like he was about to break down, but it was getting harder and harder as he stared at the boy in front of him. Leisurely raising his hand up and gazing at it for a minute, he took notice of the fact that it was shaking violently, something he never remembered it ever doing in his whole existence. He was obviously in shock, and that proved it. Pushing himself to move it straight forward, he let it lightly fall in between his comrade's chest and stomach so he could feel the sticky liquid on his skin and soak into his nerves. Simply lowering his head afterwards, he allowed the tears that were trying to get through to soak his eyelids and sink through the skin, making puddles around the bottom of his eyes and the corner of them too. He stayed this way for about a minute until his expression and reaction to what was going on changed suddenly and rapidly.

Pete froze the very second something happened, something that made him think he was crazy, mad, or even delusional. He froze when he felt something on the torso he was softly touching. He froze when he felt Clark's chest move. With one immediate act in his mind, he snapped his head around when his eyes went wide to show the water floating around in pools of different colors. "Mr. Kent!" Pete called out; his voice quivering against his will as extremely slowly, the man turned his neck around and looks at the dark colored boy sadly and despondently.

"I think he's alive." He deduced, getting his attention right away as Jonathan's eyes went broad and he instantly ran over to where he was, plunging to his knees without hesitation and placing his two fingers behind the boy's neck. While he stood still, making sure not to move or probably even inhale air himself, he waited for the sign that would show him everything was going to be okay. Biting his lower lip, he waited for what seemed like forever to find a pulsation on his son while he waited, and waited, and then found one.

"He's alive." Jonathan breathed out, moving his hand away from the back of his neck and gulping loudly as solely when he thought everything was going to be all right, the very weak and hardly there pulse he had found told him that it wasn't. The teen was shot and now living, and they couldn't take him to a hospital like normal people would be because he wasn't a typical teenager. If they found out his secret, then he would be gone again. Looking over at the father with a confused expression, the African American boy leaned his head in and placed both of his hands on the ground as he stared at his worried and baffled face that was trying to think of many different thoughts.

"Mr. Kent, what are we going to do? He was shot." Pete reminded him, glancing back over at the body and wincing when he saw that blood was now soaking the sides of his shirt and slowly creating a puddle on the floor. If he wasn't going to die of a bullet impact, then it was defiantly going to be of blood loss.

"There's only one thing we can do," Jonathan said, getting up from his knees and backing away from his fallen son swiftly as he cleared his throat to get the lump out of it that was still trying to block his air.

"Take the bullet out." As soon as he finished his sentence, Pete shot his eyebrows up and felt his eyes go wide for the third time that morning as he gave him a look that pretty much said he was idiotic and senseless. Watching his words though since the man was older then him, he glared over at the teen again before turning his head back over and looking at him fearfully.

"T-that's way to dangerous Mr. Kent--it could kill him!" He exclaimed, seeing him walking backwards even more and shaking his head as he gulped a loud lung full of air down his esophagus to calm his nerves down and licked his dry lips while running his fingers through his dirty blonde hair.

"We have no choice Pete." Jonathan simply told him, spinning around and rushing towards the door when suddenly a voice caught him off guard and made him stop at once. "Mr. Kent, where are you going!?" Pete called out in confusion, not wanting him to leave him all alone as he watched him turn his head around but keep his back toward him as he was close to the barn entrance, making it so there was a long distance between him and the younger boy.

"I'm going to need some things to do this Pete--make sure he stays alive though." Jonathan shouted to him so he could really hear him, getting a nod from him as he went back to running out of the barn, only getting to the large door when once more he froze rapidly not because he heard a voice, but a strange sound. Spinning around, he saw Clark abruptly awake, gagging up blood from his mouth and trying to sit up however having no luck as his body shook brutally in spasms, and his face crumbled up in anguish. Both him and Pete exchanged quick looks before he walked backwards again, keeping his eyes on his son as he clutched his teeth together in fret of what was going to happen next.

"Just keep him awake Pete!" He yelled, and this time promptly running out and away from the barn to leave Pete sitting on his knees panicked while he watched his friend cough and shudder cruelly in sheer agony.

--------------

The sun beamed brightly against Jonathan's back as he ran down the long field of his farm, his legs cutting through the grass and his chest heaving large exhales while sweat dripped down his face and to his shirt. Never in his life had he ran this fast. With his legs moving quickly and his feet nearly tripping a few times, he tried his best to go faster although he was sprinting as hasty as he could all while staring at the yellow house that was his destination. If he simply got inside then everything would be okay-or at least he would have one thing done and only a small amount of things to do next.

He needed tools. Appliances, anything that would help him take out the bullet that was made of meteor rock, his son's only weakness. A knife was the first item on his mind. Towels were next. Then, anything that would help. All he needed was to get inside. He wasn't even half way there as he kept his legs moving even if they felt like they were about to collapse. Jonathan was so tired, so exhausted. Air was the one thing that his lungs weren't getting and his face was turning red all while the sun shinned it's light against his body. He couldn't stop now though. Taking one second to do so could mean wasting time to save Clark. He needed to save Clark.

Reaching the other end of his abode, he instantaneously grabbed the back of his red pick up truck to keep him standing before he started to jog over to the kitchen door where he grasped the handle and swung it open, nearly breaking it as it hit the wall to the side of it. He couldn't stop now. He was so close to getting the things he needed. As soon as he entered the kitchen however, the first thing he noticed was the red haired woman sitting at the table who suddenly jumped up in surprise when she saw the way he entered the room. In addition, just by his expression, she could tell something was wrong.

"Jonathan, what's--" Cutting her off by ignoring her at first, Jonathan ran over to the contour area of the kitchen and gulped saliva down his desiccated throat as he looked behind him at his wife and struggled for breath. "Barn. Go to the barn now Martha! It's Clark." He informed her, at once seeing her cover her mouth with her hand and nod her head while she rushed over to the screen door and opened it back up to run out into the field he had recently came back from.

Pausing for a second, he almost forgot why he even came here with the panic of remembering that his son was lying on the shed floor breathing his last breaths. He could die any second while he stood there doing nothing, which meant he had to do something. Anything that would help. Looking around and trying to see if there was anything there, Jonathan spotted a large, folded brown bag by the sink and he scampered over to it quickly. Clutching it in his hands and opening it up, he spun back around and back over to where he was before so he could pull out a kitchen drawer and search throw it with one hand. "Damn it!" He cursed, shoving it back in and then yanking another one open so it flew all the way out and fell onto the floor.

Wasting no time, he bent down to his knees and rummaged through that one, grabbing all the sharp knifes he found and stuffing them in the paper bag while he stood up and tugged two more drawers onto the floor so he could simply fall to his knees once more and search through them once again. He threw all the sliver wear across the floor and only grabbed the blades and daggers that he found. None of them were sharp enough though. He needed a razor-sharp knife to get the bullet out of his son's chest. Running his hands down his face, he looked back up and abruptly caught sight of a small black stand that had at least five knifes in it, making a smile slip onto his face as he stood up and rushed over to it.

Seizing all of them, Jonathan held them in his hands, then placed them down on the contour so he could observe them, and see which one was the sharpest. The unexpected noise of the grandfather clock in the living room interrupted him and caused him to look over at the clock to the right of him that was hanging on the wall, and a slight wince came out of his mouth when he saw the time. Ten o'clock in the morning. Time was going by too fast. Quickly picking the one he thought was the sharpest, he then pulled out the three drawers in front of him and snatched all of the dish towels that they held, bending back down and stuffing them in the bag as he hastily looked behind him again at the timepiece. He knew that every second that went by his son was using up his last breaths, and he wasn't going to lose him now.

Not without a fight anyway.

--------------

Back in the barn, Pete sat still as he watched Clark slowly stop coughing and his shaking come to an end, blood dripping down the sides of his cheeks and soaking his lips as he let his head smack against the ground and his eyes close gently while he rolled it to the side. It hit the other boy that he was gradually falling into unconsciousness and it was the one thing he was suppose to prevent when he did however. He knew what would happen if he did fall into darkness too, and he did not want that to happen at all.

"No Clark, you have to stay awake! Come on man, j-just try to….just try to stay awake." Pete stumbled; frankly not knowing what else to say with the panic that was flowing through his veins and making him want to curl up into a ball and cry. He didn't know what to do as his friend merely lied there on his deathbed. Cracking his eyelids open, Clark moaned loudly in pain as his face crinkled up in torture when he gasped for air that was rebuffing to come into his lungs. Every inhale was like a ball of fire lighting up in his chest and every exhale was a suicide from the smarting in his stomach. He didn't know how much longer he could stay awake, and Pete clearly saw this.

Glancing behind him, he grimaced as he saw no one coming back into the hangar, and with that being the one thing that he wanted at the moment, he felt a huge disappointed drop into his body. Snapping his head back over to Clark, he simply grabbed a dirty rag he spotted on the tool table that was next to them and lightly wiped away the blood that was on his face while he clutched his teeth together and sighed through them. How was he suppose to keep a boy awake who had a short time ago been shot and woke up from the dead? He knew that he had no control over falling comatose right now and that made the situation worst. Running his hand down his head, he bit his lower lip and held his hands together to keep them from trembling as he sniffed and closed his eyes to think.

Silence flowed into his ears, the only sound the resonance of farm animals outside as he relaxed for a second to consider what he could do all while doing as he did, the boy was falling into obscurity. Suddenly and just in time, he remembered something he saw on TV once that might help. It was an old soap opera his sister made him watch, but maybe it would work. At the moment, he would do anything though. "Clark, I-I'm going to talk to you, and I want you to listen. Keep your eyes open so I know you are awake man, okay?" Pete told him, his voice staggering against his will with the alarm that was rushing through him.

Seeing him respond by opening his eyes weakly, hardly even telling he had them unlocked, he took a deep breath and breathed out to calm himself down as he rapidly realized that he had nothing to talk about. On the show his sister made him watch, they talked about what had just recently happened. He had came here to find him on the floor deceased. Cursing in his head, he started to chew on his lip another time as he gulped loudly and ran his hands down his face in fear.

"You remember that time when we were six man? A-and we were playing on the playground at school when some girls came up to us and we knocked them over because we thought they had kooties? You didn't talk to me for three days when we were grounded man. Those three days seriously felt like forever too." Pete said, knowing that back then he was a kid and didn't know how to wait a minute. Now, he was a teenager and had to go three months without his friend. It only made him think about the fight they had last night and caused him to wince sadly. And when he looked back down at Clark, he saw that the story wasn't helping him stay awake, and this made him sigh with almost a sob.

He didn't know what to do. All he wanted was for Mr. Kent to come back and tell him what he was suppose to carry out and execute. Having a better idea now, he moved closer to Clark and made him move his head over so he was looking straight into his face with his help by his hand being on his sides as he slowly tore his eyelids apart to look at him. The boy's eyes were glazy and foggy while water was floating around in them and his face was crinkling in pain from the effects of the Kryptonite bullet in his body. The dizziness he was experiencing was obviously from the blood loss he was suffering from too.

"Okay Clark, I'm going to ask you something, and your going to tell me the answer, got it?" Pete inquired with a slight hint of demand, hearing him moan and close his eyes as suddenly, Pete could feel a fresh puddle of blood form out of his stomach, which made him grimace in gloom.

"Listen man, I know this sucks. But I have to keep you awake. Your dads going to be back soon, but he needs me to keep you awake until then. If not you….you might not wake up again." This time getting to him, Clark opened his eyes up and nodded his head the best he could, which was hardly even noticed if it wasn't for the fact that Pete was holding the sides of his skull. It didn't take him long to pick out a memory that he could ask questions to however, and he licked his lips while he scouted up to his head and let go of it gently.

"Remember that time when we got tickets to a Linkin Park concert from my brother, Clark? What happened when we got to the stadium man?" Pete asked him, watching him crack his lips open to talk but having trouble finding his voice for a second. Waiting until he did, the teen sat there on his knees as he looked at his friend endure the moment in pain, wishing he could take it all away or even turn back time so he could walk into the barn sooner and stop what had happened. Groaning, Clark choked up some more blood that fell onto his shirt before he let his head drop to the ground with a bang as he replied agonizingly.

"W-…we fo…found out t-the…t-t-t-ickers were…fake." Clark breathed, exhausted afterwards while Pete nodded his head and grinned wearily.

"Yeah…yeah. And what did we do when we got home?" He queried, not getting a reply right away like the last time as the boy gasped air to breath and balled his hands into fist from the throbbing shooting through his body. His chest was on combustion and his stomach was aching in raw, excruciating soreness while the results of having Kryptonite in his body was taking place and putting that agony in a place were he couldn't take the pain anymore. All he wanted to do was fall unconscious into sweet slumber. Let oblivion overtake his senses and stop the hurting. Stop the torment. Just stop everything.

"We-…..we played…a-all t-their CD's….full blast…o-on your s-s-teteo. Y-your mot-ther was…a-about to ki-ll us…when t-the nei-ighbors…called t-the police on…us." Clark stumbled, closing his eyes subsequently as he could hear Pete say a simple 'yeah' at what he had said with a chuckle. He remembered the day like it was yesterday.

Everything was good back then. They were happy friends and nothing was bad. He didn't even know his secret back then because Clark didn't know he was different. Stopping to think of another story, he gulped loudly and ran his hands down his face again in panic when he could tell his friend was falling unconscious.

He had a right to too. How could he make him stay awake against his will when he was going through so much anguish? Abruptly picking up the sound of someone running into the barn though, he snapped his head over to the entrance and saw a red haired woman come running in and looking around for someone or something, making him feel some relief to know that a adult was now there and he didn't have to do all the work. "Mrs. Kent, over here!" Pete called out, seeing her turn her head over to them and gasp when she saw the sight he was sitting by.

"Oh my god!" Martha exclaimed, rushing over to the two and falling down to her knees like he had done before when she got there to run her fingers through Clark's brown, bushy hair and feel tears well up in her eyes from the sight she was seeing.

"What happened Pete?" She asked him, looking down at the boy's stomach and placing her hand over her mouth when she saw the piles of blood beside him and the blue shirt now drenched in liquid.

"I-I don't know, I came here when he was…" Not even daring to finish the sentence, Pete turned his head back over to Clark, who slowly was trying to open his eyes and look at his mother who was close to tears at the sudden sight of seeing her son nearly dead on the floor. Finally cracking them open, he could barley see the two blurry figures above him, one of them on the right and the other on the left as fingers brushed his hair and voices entered his ears. It was almost as if everything was in slow motion despite the fact that it truly wasn't. Every movement they made was slow and fuzzy while their voices came out faster then they moved.

"Where's Mr. Kent? What's taking him so long?" Pete abruptly asked the woman, seeing her lift Clark's head up and into her lap as she looked back down at the boy's face which was crumpling up in pure anguish that made her want to sob. Luckily for her, it was all a distraction so she did not look over to the other side of the barn where the dead body laid that she hadn't even noticed from the time she came into the shed.

"I don't know, he just came running into the kitchen and told me to come here. What is he doing Pete, why isn't he here?" Martha asked him back, wanting to know because here her son was dieing and there he was in the kitchen looking for belongings for who knows why.

"H-He said he needed the things to get the bullet out." Pete informed her, Martha's reaction immediately being shocked as she shot her eyebrows up in bewilderment. "What!? That's too risky, it could kill Clark!" She said, seeing him nod his head, as he didn't reply though, instead looking down at his friend, which was the same thing the mother did as they watched him loll his head from side to side in agony. Clark honestly didn't know how much longer he could stay awake…

--------------

Jonathan scuttled up the stairs to the second level of his house out of breath as he held the brown grocery bag in his hands, the top nearly overflowing with dishcloths and stilettos as he held onto the banister with his other palm and jogged up the steps, skipping them two by two in a hurry. Rushing into the bathroom, he flew the door open and switched on the light, bending down to his knees where the cabinet was to the sink and searched through it to see if there was anything he needed or could use there. His mind was two much in a in a rush that he didn't have the time to think about how stupid his actions were. He needed to save his son, and that's all that mattered.

Standing back up, he spun around over to the long yet short closet and opened that up to see a bunch of bath supplies and towels on the shelves. Grabbing all of the textiles, he stuffed them down into the bag until he heard the paper rip at the sides while he closed the door and took a deep breath in to simply catch a gulp full of air. He froze for a second and closed his eyes to make sure he had everything he needed. Towels, knives, and the sharpest blade in the house, which was made out of pure Tucson metal. He had all he needed. Now, he just needed to get back into the barn and hope that the boy was still alive. Taking one simple second to inhale and try to stop his arms from the trembling they were doing, he sucked in his lips before nodding his head to himself and exhaling stridently.

Leaving the bathroom with the light still on, he rushed down the stairs and right when he was on the last two steps, tripped and fell flat on his face unexpectedly with a loud thud. Cursing aloud when all the things in the bag fell out onto the floor, Jonathan swiftly stuffed them back into the sack and wiped his brow while he stood back up when he was finished and gulped what water he had in his move down his parched throat as he looked over at the clock in the kitchen. Ten minutes had gone by, and for him, that was too much. Closing his eyes once more for a quick moment, he took time to make a quick prayer to God that he didn't lose his son before he scampered over to the door and swung it open so he could sprint outside and run down the long field again and soon to be back into the barn.

Now, only time could tell what was going to happen next.

To be Continued…


	7. A nightmare come true

Panic and fear flew through the bodies of Pete and Martha as they sat on each side of Clark, who was rolling his head back and forth moaning miserably in pain while they continued to wait for Jonathan to come back and save the boy from any more anguish that he was suffering during the moment. As tears dropped down from the mother's eyes and slid down her cheeks, she tried to calm her son down by running her hand through his soft, brown hair that was damp with sweat all as she kept her head looking to the side of her waiting for her husband to come back. Where he could be? What was taking him so long? So many questions wandered in her mind but she couldn't take the time out to answer them. She had to keep her son alive.

Biting his lower lip until it was close to cracking, the other teen gulped loudly as he looked down at his friend, wincing when he saw his face crumbled up in pure agony that made guilt plunge into his body for trying to keep him awake through all the hurting he was going through. "Mrs. Kent, I don't think he can stay conscious any longer." Pete told Martha, seeing her turn her head over and another teardrop fall down her cheek as she shakily took an inhale of air to prepare herself to look down at the boy. When she did, she wanted to die herself. He was in so much pain, so much torture. She felt a loud sob escape her lips as another surge of red liquid fell out of his stomach and soaked his blue shirt even more, causing her to cover her hand with her mouth as she watched his face relax and slowly sink into oblivion.

"Martha! Pete!" Snapping their heads over to the sudden sound, Martha and Pete found Jonathan running into the barn with the sun beaming down on his body and lighting him up like an angel as a large brown bag laid in his hands, overflowing with things which got the woman to quickly get up and scamper over to him. Her red hair flew in the air as she sprinted over to him, grabbing the bag and gulping back the rest of the tears down her throat when as soon as she did, he ran away from her and over to the other side of the barn, which got her both angry and sad at the same time.

"Jonathan, Clark's dieing! What are we going to do?!" She exclaimed, her voice hoarse while she observed him throw all the drawers at the tool table open, looking for something obviously when abruptly her watch was cut off when she heard the noise of her son's friend bellow back at her in a worried and panicked tone.

"Mrs. Kent!" Pete yelled at the top of his lungs, getting both parent's attention when they looked over at him to find him with his fingers on Clark's neck and his face looking at both of them with an alarmed expression. Dashing back over to him, the mother brushed away the tears on her cheeks, falling down to her knees and keeping the yelp in her mouth when she did so as she grabbed the boy's wrist with quivering hands and placed her two fingers to his veins before letting a loud cry out of her mouth.

"Jonathan, hurry! He hardly has a pulse!" Martha sobbed, still feeling for a pulsation and barely even finding one. It was so weak she had to hold her breath to keep herself from moving. And the moment stayed like that too with her sitting by her semi-unconscious son that was bleeding heavily by the stomach and chest among his friend next to him.

Over on the other side of the barn, Jonathan moved faster by the second as he threw drawers open and searched through them for the one last thing he needed. He couldn't find it though. Swearing loudly and slamming the one he had opened shut, the father placed his head in his hands when suddenly and rapidly a thought miraculously came charging back into his mind through the panic and fear that was clogging up his considerations.

Stumbling over to the red toolbox that was on the right side of the tool table he was by, the father opened up all three drawers and threw everything they had in them on the desk, rummaging through them all and freezing in his spot when he found something he didn't want but stopped him anyway. The sliver, rectangular case that had his son's blood in it. It was the case he was holding less then a day ago.

Taking notice of the fact that his hands were now trembling, he gulped loudly, the saliva forced down his throat as he let one deliberation enter his mind to get the rest of the anger and rage out of him. Morgan Edge had all the blood he wanted right behind him. And with that saying thought, he threw the case aside, spotting a pair of black pliers afterwards and grabbing them instantaneously to spin around so he could run back over to the fallen boy on the ground. With the mother and a friend on each side of him, he plummeted to his knees for the second time that day and drop the tool on the floor while he inhaled to catch his breath.

As his wife scooted over to the boy's head, placing her fingers in his hair and smoothing it back gently, Jonathan grabbed the brown grocery bag next to him and dumped it out on the floor before looking back over at his son and freezing once more suddenly. Both the mother and dark colored boy saw this. "Jonathan, what are you going to do?" Martha asked with a lump in her throat, looking up at her husband as he braced himself for what he was about to say.

"The only thing I can do Martha." Dropping her jaw open in shock that he was actually going to do what Pete had told her he was going to do, the woman shook her head with her eyes wide as she let two more tears fall down from her gorgeous eyes that were filled with water. "It's too risky Jonathan, it could kill him!" Martha cried out, getting him more irritated as he snapped his head over to her and tilted his head to the side.

"Damn it Martha, I know! But we don't have a choice. The bullet is made out of Kryptonite, if we don't get it out it's going to kill him!" Jonathan retorted, silence creeping around the air after he said that with the reaction Pete and Martha held. Both did not know that he was dieing because his only weakness was in his body. Putting his head in his hands, Pete sighed sadly when his mind accepted what the father was going to have to do, and slowly, the fear he once held left and returned with another kind of terror. Instead of feeling panicked of what was going to happen next, he knew what was going to occur now, and it's what frightened him. Martha simply sucked in both of her lips again and sunk down to her knees all while she tried to keep herself from sobbing. She could not break down. She had to be strong no matter how hard it was going to be.

Jonathan bowed his head to the ground as he clutched the pliers he retrieved in his hands, feeling like he was about to break them almost as he listened to the stillness that was soon interrupted by a feeble, anemic whisper. "Dad..." Bringing his head up immediately, Jonathan felt three fingers wrap around his hand as he looked down at Clark, who had his eyes hardly open with his head two inches up from the ground and his sight looking straight ahead at his father. Jonathan saw the pain he was going through as his face was as white as a sheet, making it clear so he could see the hint of jade on his skin and his brown hair drooping back with sweat.

"I-It's okay son, it's going to be okay. You just hang in there." He softly reassured him, not believing his words one bit as he let the pliers jump down to the wooden base below him when his hands went almost numb. Knowing that time was being wasted, Jonathan grabbed the top of Clark's blue shirt that was dark red in the middle, gathering up the strength left in his body as with force, he ripped the chemise opened to hear buttons fly across the floor and his wife gasp in fright to what was revealed to them.

A nasty, painful wound laid a inch or two from Clark's chest and near his stomach, blood drenching his torso and his sides as pulsing green veins covered his skin while Jonathan had never swore so much in his whole life then he was that very moment. "Dad." Clark wheezed loudly as he brought his head up as much as he could so he could look at his injury with fear and then gaze up at his father in anguish.

"It's okay Clark; I'm going to get that bullet out." Jonathan said, watching his son drop his head down in his mother's lap as he searched for the tool he needed that was on the ground with his eyes staring at the abrasion that his son had received. Finally finding it, he picked it up and placed it in front of his eyes with a loud gulp before looking back down at his son's body, the muscles tensing up now that he knew what was going to happen as the father took a deep breath and then exhaled it despondently. He didn't even remember the second he lowered the pliers down to his son's chest and with might, stuck them deep down into the wound. All he remembered during that moment was the strident roar that Clark gave out.

"Pete, hold him down!" Jonathan shouted when he noticed that his son was trying to get away with cries, attempting his best to move the pliers around as Pete did what he said by grabbing his friend's shoulders and pushing them down on the ground while looking behind him at the father. Trying to move the pliers was like moving a stick in wood. It was extremely hard to do and the hollers Clark gave out were not making it easier. He could hear the sound of his wife calling out his name to stop over the yells though, and that just drove him to try harder. He had to save his son. He wasn't going to lose him, he couldn't lose him. Because he lost him once, and it wasn't going to happen again. It was the moment realization dropped down in his body that he realized he might not have a choice when it came to fate's plans.

"I can't find it Martha." Jonathan panicked, not knowing over three minutes had gone by he had been looking for the slug as Martha let a sob out of her mouth and Pete slowly let go of Clark's shoulders when be began to relax since the man had stopped. Letting go of the pliers that were deep in the wound, Jonathan stared at the lesion for a second as he tried to find a way to figure out how to get the Kryptonite bullet out. The wound was small, but it was smack in the middle of Clark's chest and stomach. He knew so because every time he tried to move the pliers, he felt his son's rib bones with the tool. The pulsing green veins were bold by the center of his upper body and slowly crept down to his abdomen where they eventually faded out by his belly button. It meant that the bullet wasn't deep down in the wound in his chest. It had somehow moved down to his stomach at least three inches telling by the bolder the veins got.

"I'm going to have to cut three inches." Jonathan whispered accidentally to them all, not even knowing he had spoke those words as Martha gasped louder then she ever had and Pete covered his mouth with both of his hands. The silence that the room held was thick and full of tension as no one dared to speak or move, only sit there in worry of what was going to happen next. Martha was the first to open her mouth and say what they were all wondering though.

"Are you positive Jonathan?" She inquired, saying what he had said in her head and feeling like it was a murder to do to the boy. None of them were doctors or surgeons which made the situation even worst as Clark laid down on the ground groaning in tenderness from what his father had just done to him. Shakily nodding his head, the older man ran his fingers through his dirty blonde hair and gulped loudly as he moved his sight away from the wound he could not stop staring at.

"We...we have choice Martha. It's the only way to get it out." Jonathan informed her, knowing it didn't make her feel any better as she smoothed back the boy's hair to get him to stop whimpering in pain as he tried to stay conscious with the darkness overflowing his mind. Finding his voice that had been lost ever since he first spoke to Martha when she entered the barn they were all in, Pete looked up at Jonathan and darted his eyebrows up as he sniffed to get the tears from falling out of his eyes.

"Mr. Kent, t-that could really kill Clark." He reminded him, regretting his words afterwards when he remembered the shout he had given Martha when she had something like that. In too much shock and trepidation however, the father sat still in stillness before shakily moving his arm over to his son's chest and clutching the pliers with force so he could pull them out and hear the boy yelp in agony. It killed him to know that he was putting Clark through all the pain. He could stop most of it if he just threw the tools he had away. He also had no choice too though. The bullet was poisoning him by the second, and if he did not get it out soon, he would die one way or another. Nevertheless would things be so much easier if the slug was straight in the wound.

"I know Pete...I know." Jonathan replied, dropping the pliers that were soaked in blood to the ground as he turned around and grabbed a dishcloth from the bag, shakily handing it over to his wife who understood what he wanted her to do even if he didn't say a word while he took her spot by the boy's head. Through the corner of his eyes, he watched Martha leisurely wipe away all the blood that was on the teen's chest and Pete sit in silence as he slowly put his fingers in the boy's crown, combing it gently as sweat glistened his face and his eyes stayed shut tenderly.

"Clark?" He whispered in his ear, bending down to his face as Clark cracked his heavy eyelids open the best he could, rolling his head over to him gradually and smiling wearily to get him to grin back.

"Everything's going to be all right Clark. Everything's going to be all right." Jonathan lied, not understanding why he had just said those words when everything wasn't going to be all right. The dieing boy had a right to know he could breathe his last breath because of what he was going to have to do. Sniffing, he inhaled loudly and placed his ruff hand on his soft cheek, stroking it and holding back the tears in his eyes as the boy closed his eyes for a second and then opened them back up to show the water that was floating around in his eyes.

"I'm sorry son. I'm sorry for everything I said--I didn't mean. I swear to God I didn't mean it." Jonathan blurted out when he saw a tear slide down his son's face, closing his eyes and letting a silent sob out of his mouth as he struggled to find his composure so he could make the boy feel safe and unharmed. Taking his shaking hand off his face, he placed it back in his head full of hair, trying to do anything to keep himself from crying as Clark started to get worried through the pain and agony that was in his body.

With the throbbing in his stomach from the pliers that had dug deep inside his skin, and each wipe his mother gave on his chest causing more ache, he could feel the fear that everyone else was feeling because of the way his father was acting. And the words he spoke next made all of his emotions gather up into one and scare him more then ever.

"I-...I'm going to have to do something to get the bullet out Clark. And...." Stopping to keep himself from breaking down, Jonathan closed his eyes tightly as he finished speaking, biting his tongue and choking out a sob when he saw another teardrop down his son's face. He was crying. His son was actually crying. He wanted to stop time and make all the twinge he was feeling go away now because he was in fact crying.

"And it's going to hurt. It's going to hurt real badly. But I need you to just hang in there, okay? Promise me you'll hang in there." Jonathan asked him, letting out a trembling breath as he wearily saw Clark nod his head, a disenchanted grin slipping onto his face as he moved his head up and down the best he could.

"I will...dad. I...will." Clark choked out, letting his head fall to the ground in exhaustion afterwards as he felt all his energy sucked out of his body and showing that now he had no control over what happened next. He didn't have control over falling unconscious anymore. And it scared him. It scared him a lot, because he didn't want to die. No one wants to die during the moment they really are. No one deserves to die either. And those were his last thoughts before he closed his eyes and let his ears do everything for him. He listened to his parents talk, his friend speak, and fear haunted his mind. It was all he could do.

"Mr. Kent, I think you're going to have to do this soon." Pete told him, his voice shaking a bit as he looked down at his insipid and feeble friend while he nibbled on his tongue wanting to crunch down into it so he could feel the pain the boy was feeling during that moment. He lay there so helpless, dieing in agony, as the torment he was experiencing was new and never suffered before because of his invulnerability. The only time he felt pain was when he was around Kryptonite, and now Kryptonite was inside his body and defiling him to death. Bringing his head up and looking at Martha, he felt his face soften in sadness when he saw more fresh tears streaking down her face, and he knew that she had to be going through as much emotional grief as he was. There her son was, his head in her lap as he tried to stay alive for them.

Exhaling one shaky breath at a time, Jonathan clutched the black pliers he held in his hands tightly, the handles cutting into his palm as he gazed at Clark's chest where the horrid, grave wound was and green veins pulsed around his stomach. He could not stop shaking. His whole body was trembling in fear. He was going to have to cause his son pain and anguish to save him. The only thing keeping him from not doing it was knowing that it was the one thing he had to do to save him. He had to save him. If not, he could lose him forever. And life without the boy would be too hard. He didn't even want to think about what it would be like. Right now, all he had to do was concentrate on taking the bullet out. He had to take the bullet out.

Closing his eyes softly and looking down, he gulped loudly and leisurely took one of his hands off of the tool wrapped around his fingers, placing it on the cold, hard ground and searching around for the one thing he was going to need until he found it. And when he did, he opened his eyes and brought it up to his face to look at it in fear. There it was, a sliver, Tucson knife that his father had passed down to him years ago. It was the strongest metal in the world too. It was what he was going to use to get the bullet out of his son.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jonathan inhaled and ran his hand through his hair, looking at his wife who was shedding tears and brushing the boy's hair with her fingers. He could faintly hear over the faint moaning of the teen and the panic breaths of Pete, Martha whisper the words 'Save him Jonathan' with a weary grin that simply made him choke up even more. He didn't want to do what he had to do.

Honestly, he wanted to creep into a ball and sit there doing nothing, just wait for someone to do it all themselves. But he couldn't. He had to do this himself. Because no one was there to tell him what to do, and it showed him it was all up to him to save his son. "I love you Clark." Jonathan said aloud, gripping the knife in his hands as he gave one glance to Pete and one glance to Martha before lowering his hand down and gradually goring the point of the blade in the boy's gash.

A loud, vociferous yell from the boy filled their ears immediately as Jonathan bit his lower lip and slapped his other hand on the knife, forcing it to go down through the shouts as he swore in his mind over and over again to keep himself from ignoring the roars. "Grab him Pete!" He hollered over the shouts, getting Pete to grasp one of his friend's shoulders and overpower him by pushing him back down on the ground and groaning as he tried to keep him that way. Martha soon came in and helped him by taking the other shoulder and placing both of her hands down on it to keep him down, even though it was hardly any relief. Clark continued to try to get away from the piercing pain that was afflicted on him.

With one last push, Jonathan was able to get the dagger deep down in his son's chest, hitting his ribs and breathlessly stopping to close his eyes and guzzle saliva down his dry throat. He couldn't waste time though. He had to keep going. Holding the knife firmer, he pulled it down with all his strength and grunted loudly as he clutched his teeth together and blocked the raucous, sorrowful scream that Clark gave out from his ears. The screams wouldn't stop as he dragged the stiletto further down his torso and into his stomach with the cries of his wife, the panicked shouts of his friend's son, and the repeating words in his mind.

"Damn it!" Jonathan rumbled, closing his eyes tightly as he felt himself getting weak and the force to pull the knife down the last inch becoming impossible as the reflection of the fight he had with is son came rushing back into his mind. He had told Clark he did not care. He had told him that he didn't bear in mind about his problems. And the thought drew all his vigor away. Just when he was so close to coming to the last inch, he felt himself drained out. In fact, if it weren't for his wife's shriek, then he would have given up right then.

"Jonathan!" Martha screeched, looking up at him to see him looking down at his son's face only to see that his eyes were closed gently and his body had relaxed. He didn't have the time to cheek if he was breathing though. Quickly forcing himself to heave the strong knife down, he hit the last spot and yanked the switchblade out, hearing a loud spurt sound when he did as he took time to look at what he had done to his son. Blood gushed out of Clark's stomach and chest, pouring onto his skin and dripping down his sides as an eerie almost glowing green radiance came from the middle of his upper body and abdomen.

Swiftly catching the black pair of pliers, Jonathan instantly placed them inside the wound where the gleaming was coming from, grunting a little as he searched around for the pellet while he kept his eyes closed from looking at anything around him. He could have sworn during the moment that he had hit the bullet he thanked God over a million times. Simply pulling the ends of the pliers open some, he swallowed back the vomit in his throat from both the fear in his body and the sight of so much blood when he finally caught hold of the buckshot and closed the tool to bring it out of the wound with a slight smile.

The grin faded however as soon as he got a good look at the bullet. Through the blood that it was drenched with, it shined a bright green blaze, and his eyes went wide when he saw that the man who had shot his son wasn't kidding. It was a Kryptonite bullet. Gulping, he lowered his shaking arm down to his side and joined Pete and Martha in gazing at Clark, who was unconscious with his head dangling in his mother's lap and blood making a torrent on his stomach. As they all sat in silence, every one of them stared at the fatal, ghastly wound while Jonathan couldn't help but wonder what had merely happened.

Somehow, he knew there would be consequences to what he had just done.

To be continued...


	8. It can't be happening

He couldn't stop staring at it. There it was, clutched in-between the pliers and dripping blood down the handles and onto his skin as he simply stared at it. He couldn't stop staring at it. The bullet blazed a eerie green glow, shinning brightly for its small yet narrow size while it sat grasped in the metal tool shaking some for the reason that the man holding it had his arms quivering like never before. Jonathan couldn't stop staring at it. The pellet was made out of pure Kryptonite, the radiance it was giving off clearly showing so as he tried his best to make himself believe that. It was his son's deadly weakness that made him vulnerable and ill, and there he was on the ground bleeding to death because of what he had just done. And what he had just done was going to haunt his mind for the rest of his life.  
  
Knocking back the fear and fright down his throat, the father shakily let the pliers in his hands fall down to the ground so it could release the cartridge as he closed his eyes lightly and took a deep inhale to pacify his nerves down. "Get rid of that thing Pete." Jonathan told the boy next to him, who looked up and nodded his head as he crawled over to where he was and grabbed the tool and bullet while biting his lower lip tightly since he had no choice but to at least glance at the teen that was on the ground. It was a nasty, revolting sight that he had to look at, making anyone want to gag or run away to throw up as he unsteadily stood up to his legs and instantly turned around to get his eyes away from the view.  
  
Pete felt like everything that had occurred happened way to fast to make it all seem like a dream--a strong daze he simply wanted to stay in forever. His way of thinking was blocked out by a thick floating cloud in his head and his eyes weren't blinking with the shock he was in. How was he supposed to go on living with what he had seen less then a minute ago? His friend's father had actually incised Clark to get the bullet out that he was now carrying. He had performed surgery on him. How was he supposed to forget that? How was he supposed to stay sturdy and tough for the parents when deep down inside he was close to collapsing?  
  
Stumbling over to the tool table on the other side of the barn, Pete licked his dry lips as he laid the bloody pliers and sticky bullet down on the desk, looking around petrified and nervously for something to place the shell in as he quickly glanced behind him at the couple that was by their unconscious son. From what he could see, Martha was running her hands through the boy's hair and Jonathan had picked up the blade on the floor and was just sitting there shaken up more then anyone else to what had happened. Blowing air through his cheeks, he turned back over to the table and started chewing on his lip when he spotted a lead box, grabbing it instantaneously and fiddling around to seize the bullet he once had in his hands, and when he did, he stuffed it in the empty lead box and slammed it shut.  
  
Back over where the parents where during this moment, Martha kept her fingers brushing Clark's sweat-soaked hair as she covered her mouth and swallowed back the vomit that raised in her throat from her son's wound that was placed on his chest and near his stomach. Red liquid continued to gush out rapidly, pouring onto his skin and sinking onto the floor as the green veins that use to be on his body were now gone, leaving it clear to see the pale tissue that was covered in blood. Jonathan on other hand was doing anything but gaping at the boy's injury. His eyes were set on the knife that was in his hands and in front of his eyes. It was drenched in thick, crimson fluid. His son's blood. His son's blood that he had made drain out of his body. He had sliced his flesh merely to get the bullet of meteor rock out of his carcass, and now, he was facing the results.  
  
So much had happened in the past twenty minutes. It all started with him fighting with Clark, and then, he was dead in his arms. Before Jonathan knew it, he was exchanging blows with a stranger and then shot him, killing him to death. He had murdered someone, and the thought slipped back into his mind. It was another thing that was going to haunt his conscience. That and what he had done to his son. After killing the man, he was in a rush to save the boy, and then did the best he could to take the bullet that he was shot with out of his body. To do so, he stabbed and cut him open. Jonathan's fingers and hands went numb as he released the knife uncontrollably and listened to it hit the floor with a strike, the metal hitting the ground as its sound echoed in his ears with the silence flowing into his hearing.  
  
With Martha at the boy's head, him by his chest and Pete on his right side, stillness was the only thing heard as they all tried to take in what had took place and what the ensues was going to soon be. Looking up at her husband who was in a daze, Martha gulped fearfully as she grabbed a white dishcloth with her shaking hand, slowly placing it down on Clark's stomach and turning away for a second to hold back her reaction as she wiped away the blood softly. The second time she averted though Pete saw that the scene was getting to ghastly for her and jumped in by taking a towel that was still in the brown bag the father had brought in and gently started swabbing the wound too. Bringing her head up slightly so she could stare into the dirty blonde haired man's eyes, the mother guzzled down another set of bile before she felt another tear slide down her cheek and her mouth open up so a voice that sounded nothing like her could speak.  
  
"Jonathan," Martha said carefully in melancholy, seeing Jonathan gradually raise his head and look at her face sadly as she cleared her throat to speak clear and not in a whisper.  
  
"I…I think he would be better off in the house." She suggested, looking back down at the boy with a shaky breath as the man nodded his head leisurely, forcing himself to snap back into reality where his son was lying on the floor departing his life and bleeding to fatality as he ran his fingers through his hair and continued to nod his head up and down.  
  
"Um…y-yeah. Yeah, t-that sounds good. Pete, go ahead and…um, grab a few towels so we can try and stop the bleeding and Martha, go inside and get the couch situated for him." Jonathan informed the two, running his hands down his face afterwards as his wife nodded her head and got up from her sitting spot, running over to the door and out of the barn as Pete snatched at least three long, white and blue towels from the floor and handed them over to the father. Taking them out of his hands, Jonathan placed one of them down horizontality on Clark's wound as blood immediately started to soak it, making it so he had to press hard with two hands on his stomach and grunt as he grabbed another one next to him. He was just waiting for the moment where the boy would stop bleeding because he ran out of blood. In the mean time however, he had to concentrate on getting him inside the house to fix him up there.  
  
Finishing spreading all the towels on the wound, Jonathan made his way up to Clark's head where he grabbed the neckline of his shirt and tugged on it strappingly so while he started to pull the light blue and soaked with blood shirt off him he listened to the sound of the other teen's voice fill his ears. "Why hasn't he healed yet Mr. Kent?" Pete asked him, glancing down at the boy's stomach and then up at the father who shook his head sadly and sighed heavily.  
  
"I have no idea Pete." Jonathan wretchedly told him, scooting up to his son's head and licking his lips as he gulped loudly for what seemed like the millionth time. "All right, you grab his legs and I'll grab his shoulders. On the count of three lift, okay?" He enlightened him, getting a simple nod from the boy as he crept over to his friend's long legs and took a hold of both of them to grab them tightly with both of his hands. As he did that, Jonathan wrapped his arms around Clark's so he was holding both his arms and shoulder plus making sure the towels stayed draped on his wound. Grunting, he got on his knees and bit his lip as he looked up at Pete and moved his head up and down as a affirmation for him.  
  
"One, two…three!" Both groaned loudly as they lifted the heavy body up in the air, nearly falling over to the side when they got up to their feet as Jonathan closed his eyes tightly and moved his feet backwards over to the door thus they could carry him outside and across the field. It took forever for them to get him by the barn entrance though. With the shock making their limbs weak and light, it was hard to be hauling a one-hundred-eighty-pound boy in their arms while one of them tried to keep the cloths he had tied somewhat on his chest and make sure not to slip and drop him.  
  
"Oh god, lay back on your mom's pies Clark." Pete mumbled to himself, his voice not loud enough for Jonathan to hear luckily, as they made their way over to the large door and took the step outside, the sun straight away beaming down on their backs as late morning time and early afternoon era roamed around Smallville. Through the corner of their eyes, they could still see the red haired woman running to the house, showing that it was a long run to the dwelling, which didn't make them feel better with the fact they were carrying someone in their arms. Sweat started to drip down both men's faces as they kept their eyes glued on the boy, who had a thin layer of body water shinning up his pale face and his head lolling in Jonathan's chest with every step he took.  
  
Trying to move faster every time he did look at Clark however, the father heaved a large exhale of breath as he closed his eyes and kept his feet moving on the dirt and grass while he tried to collect his thoughts the best he could to make time go by faster. He would do anything to get his mind off of knowing that his son was dieing. And it was the deliberation of what he had said to him during their fight that made his body go numb and tears to form in his eyes.  
  
"Mr. Kent!" Pete exclaimed suddenly, not getting Jonathan's attention quick enough as his hands slipped from Clark's arms and his upper body hit the ground with a loud thud while his voice was loud enough to be heard all the way from the other side of the field, which got the mother's notice right away.  
  
"Jonathan!" Martha shrieked when she saw her fallen son on the ground, his legs being held in Pete's hands as Jonathan turned his head around to her and signaled with his hand for her to keep going over to the house that she was so close too. And having no other choice, she did so, leaving him to turn back around and swear at what he did.  
  
"Shit." He whispered to himself when he saw a fresh, large pool of blood soaking the cloths and trickling onto the grass below him as placed both his arms around his shoulders again and held them even tighter when he picked him up again. Wincing as they continued to go back to walking, Pete clutched his teeth together as he lifted Clark's legs up to get a better hold on them, looking at the sky to make sure he didn't look at the wound which was tempting to do because it was so unusual actually seeing his friend bleed. Ever since he found out his secret he always thought he would never die, and here he was on his last line that was about to snap any moment now.  
  
"Who the hell was that guy Mr. Kent? The dude who shot Clark." Pete inquired, the question sudden as he regretted it the second after he asked it. The father was in a state of panic and distress and he was asking him who had shot his son. It wasn't really the best thing for a person to do, which made him hit his head mentally at his stupid actions. Even if they were dense though, the man still answered the query he had a right to know the reply too.  
  
"Some guy named Morgan Edge. I honestly don't know Pete." Jonathan responded, looking down at Clark and knowing that it frankly didn't matter who shot him. The guy was dead and he wasn't coming back. For some reason though Jonathan felt a almost fury that made him want the man to be alive again, all so he could beat him up with the vigor of knowing what he did to his son and all the pain he put him through. He could still hear the sound of the shouts and cries that Clark gave out--the painful screams that the boy had roared as he thrust the knife down his skin. He was almost happy when Pete spoke up again to get him from going any further with his thoughts.  
  
"Mr. Kent, w-…what are we going to do when we get inside? If Clark hasn't healed then…" Trailing off into silence, Pete felt his lips slowly close as he stopped himself from talking any more, locking his eyes on his cataleptic friend and questioning why his inhuman body hadn't restored itself back to health. Sighing when he heard the teen's words, the father gulped loudly as he glanced back at the barn and then back at his son with a miserable expression.  
  
"We're going to try and stop the bleeding Pete. Until he does heal we need to prevent any more blood loss." Jonathan informed him, grunting as he brought Clark closer to his chest and felt his head roll over to the other side while Pete nodded his head at his words. It took what seemed like eternity to make it over to the house, but eventually they made their way into the driveway, passing by the red truck as sweat dripped down both men's faces and exhaustion overflowed them. And just when Jonathan felt himself giving up and losing his strength again, they could hear the sound of a screen door opening up, which made him snap his head behind him to see his wife at the kitchen doorway holding the gate open for them.  
  
"Hang in there Clark, we're almost inside." The father whispered gently to his unconscious son, continuing to walk backwards as he made his way into the kitchen with Pete's help, together lowering Clark down on the tile floor and dropping to their knees. When they did so, Martha pulled a few stray pieces of hair behind her ear and sat down next to her husband who was looking panicked and worried as he gazed away from her almost intentionally. During this time, Jonathan took a second to look at what he was truly missing when he stared at his son now lying on the wooden floor with his head resting on the side. Clark's face was pure white, the same shade the color of the towels were when he first got them as a faint smear of blood was smudged around his lips and his bare chest was soaked with red liquid and his stomach had a deep gash formed in a line spilling out blood from his body.  
  
Gulping back the bile that was forcing to come up his throat and out his mouth, he ran his hand down his face again while he closed his eyes for a second and then opened them back up, placing both of his palms in his head full of hair shakily while he looked down at the floor. He was expecting his son to heal by now. He was waiting for everything to go back to normal by a simple repair that his body would make. He was hoping that the severe, ghastly wound he had made worst was going to go away in a blink of an eye.  
  
And as he waited, nothing happened. Lowering his head sadly, Jonathan took notice of the fact that he was going to have to act soon with resuming to save his son because every second he lingered was every second he could be drawing his last breath. Suddenly spotting a large, white first AID kit that was next to him, he sucked in both of his lips as he saw that his wife was far ahead of him and thinking of what to do next, which was a good thing since he had no clue what to do at the moment.  
  
"Pete, I-I'm going to need your help here. G-…get some gauze out and….and some, uh, and some bandages." Jonathan stumbled, ignoring his body respond as he kept his eyes looking at Clark's face for an unknown reason. He could not seem to stop though. It was so strange, so distressing to see his face pale and his eyes closed gently while you could tell he was fast into oblivion--soaking up the nothingness that was around him as his body laid dieing of many things. After a few minutes of staying like this, Jonathan felt someone tap him on his shoulder, making him crock his head around and see Martha looking into his eyes despondently with a wet rag in her hands.  
  
Not even brothering to smile as a thank you, he took the washcloth and twisted back around to his son, tenderly wiping the blood away from his chest and stomach to nearly gag when more simply poured out and soaked the wet material with red liquid. "For the love of God." Jonathan simply mumbled, dropping the rag and putting his head in his hands as he rubbed his face miserably. He knew there was going to be consequences to what he had done, and this was just the start of it all.  
  
"M-Mr. Kent." Hearing the sudden voice, Jonathan brought his head up to see Pete handing him a few gauze swabs and a large roll of the cloth over to him, seeing him take it away from him and guzzle saliva down his dry throat as he sighed heavily. As he unrolled the spool of gauze, he looked to the side of him at his wife and licked his lips dismally as he spoke despondently. "Uh, Martha, it-it might be a while until Clark….until Clark gets better honey. How about you go get the couch more comfortable for him." He recommended, watching her nod her head as she got up from her knees and jogged into the living room so he could look back down at his hands and block her from his view.  
  
Gripping the bandages in his hands, Jonathan sighed as he grabbed the gauze and dropped it down on Clark's chest where the bullet wound was, seizing a roll of tape that Pete handed him afterwards all while he pressed hard on the wound. Ripping a piece off to put it on the corner of the gauze, Jonathan did this over again with the other edges as he tried his best to bandage the boy's gash up however, seeing that even if he put gauze over the wound blood still seeped through it like water on a paper towel. Clutching his teeth together, he grasped another layer of the cloth and placed it down on top of the other one, taping that one down too and seeing that this it worked. Closing his eyes tiredly, he ripped off a few slices of white medical tape to get ready and bandage up the large slash that he had created as he glanced up at Pete who looked at him worriedly.  
  
Immediately starting, he placed a cloth down on the cut and pressed hard down on it; biting his lower lip as he saved time and put two more gauze covers on top of that so in no time, he had the wound covered up. "Pete, I'm going to need more tape--you stay here and keep pressure on his stomach, okay?" Jonathan said, getting up from his spot and running over to the staircase where he jogged upstairs and into the bathroom. Back down stairs, Pete blew air through his cheeks as he shakily put his hands down on Clark's torso, backing away first but getting his hands on the abdomen and overlapping his right hand with his left as he pressed hard down on the gauze and grunted a little as he tried his best to stop the bleeding.  
  
While he did, he couldn't help but bring his eyes up some and stare at his friend's face. It was so washed out with his brown hair dangling in front of his eyes and his cheek resting on the wooden floor as his body battled between life and death. It was more surreal for him then the parents to see the boy like this. He never imagined that he would wake up this morning after fighting with Clark last night to be spending his daybreak trying to save his life. Pete just hoped that he got the chance to say how sorry he was for what he said, because if he didn't…  
  
"Martha, how's the sofa coming along?" Jonathan's voice snapped him out of his thoughts just in time, making it so he had to look into the living room where the father came jogging down the stairs looking at his wife he was trying her best to make the couch a bed for her son. Rushing back into the kitchen, the older man went down to his knees as he snatched the roll of gauze that was next to Pete and moved up to Clark's head where wrapped his arms around his shoulders again and braced his body again the unconscious boy's back.  
  
"Thank god they created ER man." Pete said to himself once again, taking the roll of gauze away from Jonathan as he smiled wearily and thanked his sister once more for making him watch all the shows he thought would never come in handy in real life. Now it was though. Watching Jonathan lift Clark's upper body off the ground, Pete gripped the start of the long bandage in his hands and started to wrap it around his friend's stomach and chest, which took at least three minutes to do and finish.  
  
Lowering the heavy body back down to the ground, both Jonathan and Pete merely stared at each other and the teen as the father started to brush his now damp and straw feeling like hair with his fingers forlornly. "Oh Clark." He whispered, sighing loudly as he shook his head at what had happened to his son. The two sat there in silence for a while when Martha stuck her head through the kitchen entry and called out for the younger boy's name with a tone of sadness and a lump in her throat making her words teary and unclear at times.  
  
"Pete, sweetie, can I get your help?" She asked him, smiling wearily as he nodded his head and got off his knees.  
  
"Sure thing Mrs. Kent." Pete told her, leaving the kitchen and allowing Jonathan to sit alone in stillness as he gently brought Clark's limp head into his lap and sustained running his fingers through his hair. Now, the only noise he could hear was the sound of his own, heavy breathing, the quietness flowing into his ears as he let the world around him fade away so he could simply ogle at the boy on the ground in wretchedness. Jonathan couldn't believe all this was happening. The questions of why he wasn't healed yet, how it happened, and why the person named Morgan Edge even shot him left his mind and the mere contemplation to him not believing that there his son was on the kitchen floor with bandages wrapped around his stomach and chest filled the space in his head.  
  
"I'm sorry son. I am so sorry." Jonathan apologized dolefully, stroking the teen's soft and clammy cheek with his hand as he tried to hold back the tears threatening to fall down from his eyes. The intensity to do so kept him from hearing footsteps enter the kitchen some and being able to see Martha freezing in her spot when she saw him by Clark's head brushing his hair gently. Walking back to the kitchen entrance, she leaned against the wooden post as she listened quietly to her husband talking to the comatose teen.  
  
"I didn't mean what I said Clark. I swear I didn't mean any off it--I have no clue why I said it in the first place. I do care son. I care so much about you a-and…" Stopping for a moment, the father closed his eyes tightly as he choked back a sob from his throat, inhaling loudly afterwards to get himself calmed down and able to speak again so he could finish his sentence to the unconscious boy.  
  
"And that's why I had to do this to you. Please understand that…please." Jonathan cried his last words out, hanging his head down low and sucking in his lower lip to keep himself from crying. Covering her hand with her mouth, the red haired woman at the doorway felt a tear slide down here face as she closed her eyes firmly to have another streak of water glide down her other cheek as she heard the words that Jonathan had spoken. Everything that was happening and how her husband was acting all came together now that she heard what he had said to their son, who was dying by the second on the floor. Feeling someone pass by her, she opened her eyes up and lowered her hand from her mouth as she saw Pete right next to her suddenly, and she sniffed back her tears as she caressed his shoulder and got him moving over to the father slowly.  
  
"Mr. Kent." He spoke softly, a few feet away from the older man as Jonathan turned his head around and looked at him, wiping away the water on the corners of his eyes and taking a loud snuffle while nodding his head and gulping loudly. "Take his legs again Pete and we'll carry him over to the couch." Jonathan said, doing the same thing he had done for the third time now as Pete did what he was told to do, grabbing both of Clark's legs that were covered in blue farmer's jeans as the father wrapped his arms around his son's. Getting off his knees, he lifted the boy up off the ground and nearly fell back down when the weight was put back on his body, not prepared for any of it as the two began to walk out of the kitchen and into the living room and passing by Martha on their way.  
  
Half way into the family room Jonathan turned his head around since he was the one walking backwards and looked at the sofa, which had a few pillows on it, and at least two blankets making it look like a bed neatly folded and tucked into the cushions. Making their way over to the divan, Pete let go of Clark's legs and put them on the couch as Jonathan soon did the same when he placed his upper body gently on the sofa. The boy looked so weak and fragile lying comatose as his head was rolled to the side and on a fluffily pillow while his right hand laid tenderly on his stomach and his right by his side.  
  
Bending down to his knees, Jonathan tilted his head to the side as he stroked his son's cheek once again, hearing his wife walk over to him and stoop herself down to his level as she looked at the teen and sniffed some with despondency.  
  
"What do we do now Jonathan?" Martha asked, looking up at him when she finished inquiring the question as he sighed loudly and let his hand fall from his son's skin and down onto the couch in sorrow. "Wait." Jonathan simply told her as he stared at Clark who was deep into oblivion now. It was all they could do. Wait.  
  
Wait and worry.  
  
To be Continued…


	9. His bedroom, his thoughts

Mid-morning time overtook the citizens of Smallville as a wonderful Saturday daylight filled everyone's senses, the daybreak nearly ending so afternoon era could allow the people to officially start what they needed to do as the sun shinned brightly down on the farm land and corn fields and a strong but gentle breeze occasionally blew by. Down at the Kent farm however, the three people in the yellow house weren't exactly as cheerful and happy as everyone else in the urban was.

Not along ago a terrible, awful event happened to them all and now, all they wanted was for things to slowly get better. In the living room was a couple sitting by the couch in two separate chairs, looking over a pale, ailing boy who was unconscious on the sofa with a thin blanket covering his bare chest and two pillows sitting behind his head.

Up on the second level a white, thick cord was trailing on the floor from a certain bedroom however, leading through the turns and overtop of the stuff that was thrown on the ground as it soon stopped suddenly right in front of a wooden door where you could hear the talking of another a teenage lad. Inside the room, Pete Ross sat sitting on the edge of the bathtub in the bathroom he was in, a phone pressed to his ear and the cord tangled in his fingers as he kept himself occupied by holding his hands tightly together to stop himself from shaking while he talked to the person on the other line.

"Yeah…yeah mom, I-I will, I promise. I-….I told you, I don't know when I'll be back. No, Clark and I are just…spending some…time together. You know, catching up, all that stuff. Okay…mom-ugh. Okay, I'll be home by dinner. Yeah, I'll tell Mrs. Kent you said hi. Yeah mom, I'm fine…my voice is not shaking mom. Listen, I got to go--I'm fine! Yes, I swear. I love you too. Bye." Hanging up the white phone on the receiver, Pete sighed heavily and closed his eyes while he bowed his head to the floor, feeling the powerfully thump in his head and his brain feeling like it was about to burst out of his skull overpower his mind as he groaned loudly. He had a headache, and it was no doubt from what had just happened.

More than an hour ago he had seen his best friend on the barn floor bleeding to death and nearly dead as he and the farm boy's parents tried their best to save his life and take the bullet that he was shot with out of his body. They got the slug out, yes, but if they saved his life was even a mystery to kismet.

Downstairs were Martha and Jonathan, sitting by the couch waiting for their son to wake up from unconsciousness, as he sat there in their upstairs bathroom with a phone in his lap and a distressing expression on his face. He did not know what was going to happen next. He did not know if his friend was going to wake up or stay alive. He didn't know if he could say sorry to him for the things he'd said the night before. In fact, none of them knew anything about what was going to happen next. Everything had happened so quickly that it was a miracle they were able to live the seconds they were living. In less than an hour Clark was shot, died, came back to life, and had his father cut him open to get a bullet made out of his only poison out of his body. Now, he was on a sofa comatose as they all wondered if he was going to make it through the night or even wake up.

And suddenly, during that moment, Pete realized that he was scared. He was scared beyond any fear he had ever felt before. Clark could die any second and he would never see him again or hear him talk, hear him laugh, hear him sigh at his annoying jokes and pick up lines or feel him hit him on the shoulder when he did something stupid. Knowing that he might never be with him again frightened him, and that's what kept him from going downstairs to look at his pale, inexpressive face. He was hiding from the fear he was feeling.

Exhaling loudly, he put the telephone aside and onto the floor so he could get up from the edge of the bathtub, blowing air through his cheeks before stumbling over to the door with the mess of towels and medical material scattered all over the ground. Turning the doorknob, he suddenly felt the nice, blissful gust of cool air touch his face and unwind his shoulders so he could close his eyes gently let the world around him vanish for the split second he had forgotten about everything around him and everything that was happening.

But it was only for a second, and once the moment was over, everything came rushing back to him and it was almost like the weight of the world fell back onto his shoulders. Biting his lower lip, Pete ran his hands down his face as he made his way out of the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light off or even close the door. He was taught to leave a place like he found it anyway.

Sauntering into the hallway, he softly placed his fingertips on the walls next to him, his hand strolling across the wallpaper as he walked slowly when abruptly once again he felt the swift blow of air drift across his face and cause him to dart his eyebrows down in confusion to where the wind was even coming from.

Uncontrollably flowing the air stream, Pete turned a small corner and spotted the one and only bedroom with the door wide open, showing a bed in the middle of the space, two dressers and a computer on a desk along plus curtains blowing in the air with the casement unlocked. It was Clark's room. He knew it from the second he turned the corner. Now, he had the choice to walk inside the area or spin around and go downstairs where he would face his friend lying on the couch and the two parents next to him sadly waiting for him to wake up from the unconsciousness he was deep in.

And without hesitation, he went in the room, avoiding his problems yet again because of the fear he was comforted with. There he practically grew up in the room. Every day after school he would come over to the Kent's and hang out in his friend's room, talking with the farm boy or playing games with him and having a good time. So many memories were in this room. So many memories were all around him. Another reason he was afraid of what would happen if Clark died. Facing reminiscences and knowing that he couldn't go back and enjoy them again was pure hell, and honestly, the emotions he was feeling was hell enough. Adding on something else wasn't what he needed.

Groaning some, the teen stuffed his hands deep inside his pockets and walked in the room, walking by one of the dressers and sucking in his lips when he saw the photo frames of Clark's parents and his friends on the top with a few other belongings spread around them. Pete could not help but close his eyes and bow his head when he saw how much his friend's comrade's meant to him because there he knew that about fifteen hours ago he had yelled at Clark telling him how upset he was that he ran away and didn't even bother to talk it out with him.

Pete knew why he said those things too. He didn't do it because he was mad he ran away and didn't face his troubles-he was here making sure he didn't go downstairs all because he was terrified of fate. No, the only reason he had said those things was that during those three months he didn't have his best friend there by his side. He had to think that he was never coming back and they were never going to be friends again. It was where facing his reminiscences came in again. It didn't matter now though. He just prayed that he would be able to see him open his eyes again. That's all he wanted.

Sighing, Pete made his way over to the bed and sat down on the edge of the divan, taking his hands out of his pockets and running them across the soft, smooth covers that allowed the bed to be neatly made. The thoughts of all the sleepovers he had in this room came rushing his mind and caused him to moan in frustration, stuffing his head in his hands and closing his eyes tightly as he tried his very best to stop the memories. He didn't understand why it was now they were all coming back to haunt him. He had a reason why, but he didn't understand.

It was easy to know that guilt was making this happen to him. Everything he saw, everything he touched he would remember some moment in time he had spent with Clark. The boy who was downstairs lying on the couch nearly dead. He was dieing. The invincible Clark Kent was dieing. Pete repeated that at least five times in his head and took notice of the strange feeling he had felt when he did. Clark was dieing. How could that be happening? How could he be slowly fading away from life? How…why?

Those two questions remained in his mind as he got up from the bed and made his way over to the open window that had brought him to the room in the first place. During the moment he stuck his head outside of the casement and titled it to the side, everything he had been thinking before slipped out of his head and one thing stayed saying over and over again. His friend was dieing--breathing his last breath as he stood there in the farm boy's room scared, petrified, and worried. Pete didn't even know what he was feeling anymore with the mixed emotions running through his veins. Was he frightened, concerned, timid? He was feeling too many things to know.

With one last heaved sigh, he leaned his arms against the transom and bowed his head as he felt more breeze run into his face and blow again his cheeks. He didn't know how long he was going to stay up here in Clark's room. He didn't know if he was ever going to even come out. All he did know was that he wasn't going to go downstairs and face his fear until he completely had too. This meant he was putting a load on Jonathan and Martha as they watched their son die right in front of their eyes. For if he did go downstairs, it would mean accepting the fact that Clark was dieing a horrible, painful death in a deep unconsciousness. And he wasn't going to do that.

So Pete stood there, falling into his own thoughts as he felt the cool wind brush against his face and the sun beam onto his body while he stood in his friend's room wondering what would happen next in the twisted event fate was putting them all through…

To be Continued…


	10. Confessions

It was late afternoon time down at the Kent farm as Martha sat down at the kitchen table in the yellow house, her arms resting on the wood and her face staring blankly at the wall in front of her while silence flowed around in the air and echoed in her ears. It was late afternoon time now, the hectic morning she had suffered from now over and evening era soon to come with the clock telling them it was around four pm. For everyone in the house, which included her son's friend and her husband, the day was dragging on like never before as they waited for the boy lying on the couch in the living room to wake up from unconsciousness and be all right.

So much had happened in the past seven hours. The mother had just woken up and was sitting down at the same exact table she was in now when suddenly the man she married came bursting through the door yelling for her to go inside their barn. When she did, she found her own son on the ground bleeding to death and dying quickly. From there, they took the bullet out of his body and brought him inside where they waited for him to wake up. And to this very second, they were still waiting.

Never in her whole life had Martha been this worried about someone. Any moment her son could rapidly die and they couldn't do a thing about it. All they could do was remain waiting for him to awaken and then pray that everything would be all right from there. But they didn't know what was going to happen after that. Right now all they wanted was for him to wake up. A sign was all they needed to know that he wasn't dead or fallen into a loss of consciousness that he would never wake up from. Honestly, that's what scared the mother more then ever. Her son hadn't woken up in the past six hours and the thought of him being in some kind of coma terrified her. She tried not to think about it, but the thought was something that entered her mind against her will.

Yawning some, Martha closed her eyes tightly and sniffed loudly, rubbing her face tiredly as she tried to focus on something else besides something that hadn't even happened yet. She didn't know what was going to happen so there was no reason to fret over something that there was a possible chance wouldn't even occur. So as she leaned back in the hard chair she sat it, she listened to the peaceful noise of silence roam around the kitchen until a sudden voice caught her off guard and made her snap her head behind her where she saw a darker colored boy standing by the stair case clutching onto the banister firmly.

"Mrs. Kent?" Pete asked timidly, his face full of misery and wretchedness as he licked his lips and shifted his feet nervously, trying not to run back up the stairs and hide in the bathroom again like he had been doing for the past hours. He didn't know what brought him down into the kitchen and he didn't know what gave him the guts to even move his feet down each stair, but the point was he was here, and turning back would be stupid. He needed to come clean. He needed to talk to someone about what he was feeling.

"Hi sweetie." Martha kindly greeted, tilting her head to the side while he took a few steps up to her, attempting to walk up slowly and not look at her face however each becoming impossible. He wanted to get everything out of his system fast or just run away.

"I, um, I-I called my mom, told her I was going to stay here for a while." Pete informed her, knowing that he in point of fact called his mom over six hours ago. Time didn't matter though. Really, time meant nothing to him anymore right now. The world around him seemed like a dream or something instead of a day that they were all living. And he knew that it was going to seem like a dream for a while too. Watching Martha nod her head, Pete cleared his throat nervously while he stuffed his hands deep inside his pockets, swiftly glancing over at the living room and getting a quick glimpse of a dirty blonde haired man sitting down by the couch in a chair, which made him look back over at the mother and bite his lip.

"Um, how's Clark?" He inquired, hitting the wrong spot when he saw the mother lower her head sadly and sigh forlornly, shrugging a little as she looked up at him with depressed eyes that would make anyone feel cheerless and gloomy.

"He hasn't woken up any." Martha told him, hearing a simple and mere 'oh' escape his lips as he rolled his shoulders some to ease the stress on his back. Looking away from the older woman, the teen stared at the clock on the wall to get his mind off the tension that was in the room, watching the hand move with each second that went by until the words the mother spoke filled his ears and caused him to look back over at her despondently.

"Everything okay honey? You holding up?" Martha questioned, looking deep in his face and seeing right away that he didn't need to answer what she had asked. It was obvious that something was bothering him. Since the moment they had placed her son down on the couch and were informed all they could do was wait she could see something was wrong with him. Not knowing what it was though, she watched him walk up to her and suck in his lips, hesitating to talk but eventually doing so when he pulled out a chair and sat down in it so he was right next to her.

"Not…not really. I was actually wondering if I could talk to you." Pete said, feeling a hand gently placed on his shoulder as he looked up at the mother and saw her staring at him with kind and thoughtful eyes and an caring expression on her face.

"Absolutely, I'm all ears." The mother compassionately advised him, hoping to get a small smile out of him but instead hearing a loud sigh that caused her to lean back in her chair and listen to every word he spoke since she knew straight away it was something important.

"I…I, um, I kind of got into this fight with Clark last night. And…" Trailing off into stillness, Pete locked his eyes down on the kitchen table and rubbed the back of his neck tensely and forlornly as he finished what he had started to say.

"And I kind of said some pretty mean things to him." He confessed, looking up at the woman and seeing her sad and a little confused at what she was hearing. It wasn't that he was puzzling her, it was because last night her son had came home depressed and miserable and know she knew why but didn't know what words the teen could have said to him to make him that way. She understood that he was going to keep that to himself though when he went on with his statement.

"I don't know, with him getting shot and now not waking up--I'm just worried that I won't get a chance to say sorry for what happened." Pete informed her, sighing as the mother was saddened and brought him into a embrace right away.

"Oh Pete, I'm sure everything is going to be all right. Clark will wake up soon, I promise. And I'm sure he'll understand that you were upset last night. Sometimes in the heat of anger we say things that we truly don't mean, you know?" Martha said, being the one to pull away and see him shrug a little at her words.

"Yeah, I guess so." He mumbled, placing both his elbows on the table and looking straight ahead at the wall while glancing at the clock which told him the time was six thirty in the evening. He wasn't surprised either. From the moment they walked into the house during late morning era he had hid upstairs either in the bathroom or in his friend's room watching the time change simply by looking outside. Hearing Martha exhale some before a hand was placed back on his shoulder, Pete looked over at the caring mother and listened to what she had to say to break the silence that had come.

"If you want someone who really understands what you going through though Pete then I suggest you should go talk to Jonathan." She recommended, seeing him dart his eyebrows down and sit up in his chair straight when he heard those words.

"Mr. Kent got in a fight with Clark?" Pete queried, tilting his head to the side as Martha sighed heavily once again and leaned back into the hard chair she sat in, nodding her head and placing her arms to her chest while she spoke.

"I assume. I overheard him talking to Clark when we were in the living room. He sounded just as guilty as you." She told him, water forming in her eyes and a lump staying her in throat at the memory of her husband sitting over their unconscious son nearly in tears while apologizing to the boy for something he had obviously said. Looking back over at the darker colored boy, she found him staring down at the table wretchedly before glancing up at her with a sad and heartbreaking expression on his face.

"I guess you're the lucky one in all this Mrs. Kent. You won't have anything to regret if Clark does die." Pete didn't want to think about what would happen if his friend did kick the bucket, but the words he spoke proved that his mind was thinking it either way, and Martha saw that it was true that if her son did die she would have nothing to regret.

No words, no fights they didn't make up for, no anger that she lashed out on him to regret. He didn't know that if Clark did die then she would be repentant for more things then they would ever feel sorry for. Not waiting for him to come home from school anymore, not giving him that last piece of pie in the fridge, not being the mother that she should have been all those years. Listening to a chair screech against the floor, the woman was snapped away from her thoughts as she watched the teen get up from his seat and push it back into the table while sighing for the millionth time.

"Thanks Mrs. Kent, you've been a big help." Pete smiled wearily, getting a grin back from her as she nodded her head and placed her arms down on the table. "Any time sweetie." Martha simple said, watching him turn around and slowly stroll out of the kitchen while she looked back down at the table and thought about what the boy had told her.

Walking gradually into the living room where he leaned against the side post of the entrance, Pete sighed heavily as he saw Jonathan sitting down in a hard, brown chair next to the couch, his elbows placed on his knees and his chin in his hands despondently while he watched over the boy on the sofa. The boy in fact was non other then Clark. Even from the distances Pete could see how awful he truly looked lying down on the divan deep in oblivion with his head resting on a light blue pilling looking up at the ceiling and his right hand relaxing on his stomach that was covered in a thin blanket. If seeing him from a gap was so bad the teen didn't want to experience what he felt when he was really near him.

For some reason though, his feet moved against his will and walked across the living room carpet closer to the cheerless father. He was able to stop in the middle of the space however when he heard a loud exhale from him and his actions were simply to stuff his hands deep in his pockets and gulp loudly while speak words that he didn't even think came out of his mouth. "Mr. Kent?" Pete barely spoke, his voice soft and incoherently but obviously loud enough for the man to hear when he snapped his head around and guzzled saliva down his dry throat before forcing a smile on his face.

"Hey Pete. Where have you been?" Jonathan asked gently, feeling the grin that he had strained on his lips slowly fade away uncontrollably soon enough when he watched the teen walk closer to him and gulp loudly, rubbing the back of his neck nervously and looking down at his feet so before he knew it he was right by the older man and slowly taking a seat in the rocking chair to the right of him.

"U-Upstairs, just--doing some thinking." Pete informed him, seeing the father nod his head in understanding since he had been doing the same thing too. Sighing, the boy licked his lips and teeth inside his mouth, placing his hands in his lap and closing his eyes to keep them from glancing over at his unconscious friend on the couch, however, having no luck at all when his eyelids popped back open and caught the sight that he winced at seeing. There laid Clark, his face as white as a ghost and his brown hair the only thing making him not look like a sheet as his chest moved up and down slightly, showing them that he was still alive and breathing. Hardly anyways.

Bringing his head up and turning it over the dirty blonde haired man, the teen cleared his throat and heaved another sigh as he spoke up through the silence between them. "I-…I know this might not be the best time and all, but I was wondering if I could ask you something Mr. Kent." Pete queried, gulping loudly as he waited for Jonathan's reply, which didn't take long when he turned his head over and forced another grin on his cheeks.

"Sure Pete, go right ahead." He said, leaning back in the hard chair he sat in as the boy bit his lower lip for a second before he inhaled and mentally told himself that it was now or never to speak.

"Did you get in a fight with Clark before all this happened?" Pete inquired, bringing his eyes up and seeing that he had dropped a bomb on the father when he gazed at the floor in surprise to the question. Closing his eyes gently and nodding his head, the man sighed heavily and lowered his neck down so he was looking down at the ground while he listened to the sound of quietness flow into his ears.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." Jonathan admitted, sucking in his lips and leaning forward in the seat as he heard the quick responds of Pete's words fly into his hearing.

"What happened?" He asked, wincing that the fact that he was asking to many questions but seeing it didn't bother the father at all when he brought his head up and looked straight at his eyes while he spoke. It showed that he was opening up to him and telling the truth, which made Pete feel nervous and edgy about. What was happening was obviously getting to the man and his actions proved it.

"I said some pretty stupid things to him." Jonathan told him, knowing that he wasn't proud at the things he had spoken to Clark. He was regretting everyone one of them right now as he stared at Pete's guilty face. "You too, huh?" The boy asked, lowering his head for a second before it hit him that the father didn't know what he was talking about, which caused him to snap his head up and see his confused and worried face. Sighing for what seemed like the millionth time, he shrugged and rested his back on the rocking chair, feeling it move back and then forth as he blew air through his dark cheeks.

"Last night. He came over and I…I don't know what the hell came over me. It was like the words came out of my mouth but I wasn't saying them." Pete confessed, looking over at him when he was done to see him understanding once again what he was saying. Only with Jonathan, the words he spoke to the boy was in ardor of fury. He didn't mean anything he said to his son. And just on cue, almost ironically, Pete asked what he was thinking the whole time during the stillness that had entered the area.

"Are we going to get the chance to say sorry to Clark Mr. Kent?" He questioned in worry, not wanting to think of what would happen if his best friend had died before he even got the chance to apologize to him. The thought was a pure nightmare that he didn't want to enter his willful. Shaking his head, the father shrugged and leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows back on his knees and gazed at his son who was immobile on the sofa.

"I don't know Pete." He said, sighing loudly as he closed his eyes gently and allowed sheer silence to enter his ears and rush through his mind. "I honestly don't know." Jonathan informed him as he opened his eyes and stared at his son who was deep in unconsciousness. During that moment, Jonathan felt like he knew nothing anymore. His wise mind was officially taken over by fate's event, and he knew that he was as helpless as Clark now when it came to knowing what was going to happen next.

To be Continued…


	11. Confessions Part 2

Darkness slowly roamed over the skies of Smallville as night time made its way across the atmosphere, the sun still lowering itself from the white clouds while down in the Kent house a troubled and tired father sat down in a hard rocking chair next to the couch in his living room. The day was gradually ending for them all, the clock on the wall showing the man that the time was around eight o'clock at night as he tried to keep himself awake through the hectic and overwhelming day he had experienced.

So much had happened to Jonathan in the past thirteen hours. He went from waking up thinking the day of the week was going to be normal and typical for his wife and him to be kneeling over his unconscious son trying to take a bullet he was shot with out of his body. Now, everything was silent. The room he sat in held nothing but silence and tranquility. With his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, Jonathan watched a young, brunette haired teenager sleep deep in oblivion on the sofa in front of him, his eyes locked on his chest to make sure he was still breathing by the small movement of it going up and down.

Jonathan didn't know how much longer he could stay patient and wait for the boy to wake up to know everything was all right. For once, all he wanted to do was know all the answers instead of being clueless to what fate was going to hit them with. All he knew was that until his son woke up, the only thing he could do was sit there and wait, even if waiting killed him slowly and painfully.

Suddenly feeling the presence of someone else beside him, the father sighed heavily and looked to his left, seeing a red haired woman seating herself in the kitchen table chair close to him and lean her head against his chest so he could wrap his arm around her shoulder and bring her closer to his body. "When is he going to wake up Jonathan?" Martha asked him, looking up at him as his fingers ran through her soft hair while she tried to control any more tears from falling down her cheeks. Shaking his head, the man exhaled heavily and shrugged a little as he continued to stare at the boy on the divan in front of the both of them.

"I don't know." Jonathan sighed, leaning his head back in the rocking chair as he listened to the stumbled breathing of his wife fill his ears. It was obvious that she had been crying all day, and now holding back her tears was a difficultly since there she was looking at her son lying on the sofa unconscious and on his last lines.

"Has he healed at all?" Martha inquired, looking up at him and seeing him shake his head with a miserable 'no', which caused the hope she had left in her to slowly, fade away. If he hadn't even healed then what was the chance of him improving when he, if he, woke up? She just didn't understand how all this could be happening to the one boy who was invulnerable, never got sick, and could bench press a truck. It was all too surreal to see and think about.

"Why's this happening to him Jonathan? He should have healed when the bullet was taken out--he should have woken up by now!" Martha exclaimed, hearing a somewhat frustrated exhale escape her husband's lips as she heard his reply enter her ears and cause her to close her eyes gently at the words she hated to hear.

"We're doing all we can Martha. Until he wakes up all we can do is wait and see if he gets any better." Stillness echoed in both of their hearing after Jonathan had said that, the only sound they heard was either their own breathing or sighs that they uncontrollably exhaled. Suddenly hearing the noise of a loud resonate, Martha snapped her head behind her at the old grandfather clock to see the time change from eight to nine and cause her to gulp loudly when she noticed that nighttime was slowly creeping over the household. The day had dragged on long enough, now hours of darkness told them that coffee and being wide-awake was going to be their new friend for the evening.

Looking back over at her husband, the mother tilted her head to the side all of a sudden and looked him straight in the eyes even if he wasn't looking at her. "You know you still haven't told me what happened." Martha told him, getting his attention as he looked over at her swiftly and darted his eyebrows down, causing her to sigh heavily and close her eyes once again at his actions.

"You can't keep this to yourself Jonathan. Not even Pete knows what happened this morning." She reminded him, hearing him exhale loudly and look down at the ground before rubbing his face and mumbling two words that she could hardly hear, but enter her earshot anyway.

"Morgan Edge." Jonathan muttered, placing his elbows back on his knees and looking wearily at the couch as Martha gazed at him utterly confused.

"What?" She asked softly in bewilderment, tilting her head to the side while listening to the sound of her husband sigh loudly and rub his lethargic eyes with exhaustion.

"Morgan Edge. The person who shot Clark was Morgan Edge." Jonathan informed her sadly, knowing without even having to look up at her that she was still puzzled for the reason that the name didn't come to mind until he continued with what he had to say.

"He must've been some guy Clark met in Metropolis. He didn't tell me much but that he found out his secret by one of his robberies." He said, gulping back the burning lump in his throat as the memories of what happened this morning still haunted his mind. The father could even now see his son lying down on the floor lifeless and the piercing echo of silence throb in his ears. Before his thoughts could go a further back in time the sudden noise of his wife's scared and timid voice entered his hearing and caused him to freeze immediately with fear.

"Why are you talking in past tense Jonathan?" Martha queried when she saw his eyelids close gently and give her the answer that didn't need to be spoken.

"Jonathan you didn't!" She gasped, jumping up from her chair as the man balled his hands into tight fist and took heavy breaths at the woman's words to finding out his horrid actions that he had done early on that daybreak.

"I had no choice Martha, Clark was dead at the time! I thought he killed him, I had no control over what I felt." Jonathan firmly enlightened her, not getting her any calmer as she hung her mouth open in shock and her eyes went wide in stagger.

"I can't believe you Jonathan, you killed a man--" Cutting her off, Jonathan shot up from the rocking chair and threw his hands up in the air in both anger and frustration.

"Don't you think I know that Martha!? Don't you think that's something that I can't stop thinking about as I watch our son die in front of my eyes?" Jonathan yelled as loud as he could, his voice raucous afterwards as Martha stood still at his words, gulping loudly while she watched him slowly fall back down in his seat and place his head in his heads with a grunt. It hit her then that not only was his conscious bothered by the fact that Clark was dying but that he had took a life in a second degree murder. Biting her lower lip, she bent down to her knees and pulled him into a hug even if at first he didn't want to accept it.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't know how you felt." Martha softly spoke, closing her eyes until the embrace was pulled apart by the man and caused her to grab her husband's hand and hold it in hers while forcing him to look straight at her face while she talked.

"Jonathan, trust me, I'm just as worried about Clark as you are. But you can't do this alone. It's something we have to face together." She told him, gazing into his brown eyes and eventually seeing his head go up and down, smiling gently when it did as she pulled him into another cuddle, this time wrapping her arms around his back and leaning her head into his shoulder.

"Yeah…yeah." Jonathan whispered to himself, enfolding her into his arms as quietness flooded the room until an abrupt voice snapped their heads over to the kitchen entrance where a short dark colored boy stood with his hands deep in his pockets and a weary grin on his face.

"Can I join? A hug sounds pretty good right now." Pete stumbled, sucking in his lips as he listened to the mother's delicate laugh fill his ears and the father wave his hand for him to come right over. It was then that the boy felt the weight of sadness taken off his shoulders when the couple allowed him to walk over to them and embrace in the hug.

"Of course sweetie." Martha said, wrapping her arms around his left shoulder and letting him bend down to his knees so he could fit in between the father and the red haired woman. As they held each other close, Jonathan's whispering words flew into their hearing and caused them to close their eyes and try to feel comfort in what he had to say. "Everything's going to be okay." The man told them all in a soft murmur, a few seconds later the boy pulling out of the clasp and nodding his head with a forced smile on his lips to make himself feel bolstered for the distressed parents.

"Yeah…everything's going to be okay." Pete repeated, grinning broadly, as Martha nodded her head in belief soon followed by Jonathan while they sat still in the silent living room. The three didn't know that everything was far from being okay though, and the night ahead of them was going to prove it.

To be Continued…


	12. Ticktock

Tick-tock...

Late nighttime flowed the skies of Smallville as dark clouds over took the atmosphere, stars glittering in the heavens while far down in the urban and inside a yellow farmhouse three people sat fast asleep in the living room of the dwelling. The husband, father and man of the house sat napping in a rocking chair and the mother and wife in a hard kitchen seat while the extra person, none other then the guest, lay asleep on the floor against the sofa. No lights were turned on in the area, leaving the illumination from the moon outside to shine through the window that was open all the way, so the curtains could flutter in the air from the wind and chills to occasionally come across someone in the room. Because of the fast slumber they slept in neither Jonathan, Martha or Pete was aware of what was going on around them or the ticking of the chronometer in the room counting each second that went by.

Tick-tock...

Lying on the couch in the living room was a fairly conscious Clark, his head leaning to the right side of the sofa and his cheek resting on the pillow that was under his head as heavy, painful breathes escaped his lips. Pain cursed through his whole body, not one inch not in anguish as his expression on his alert face was crinkled up, showing the agony he felt while sweat beams were forming on his forehead. All he heard while he tried to deal with the hurting in his body was the noise from the clock in the room too. He didn't know what room he was in, but he did know that the sound of the tick-tocking was driving him crazy, each cling telling him that a second had gone by.

He didn't know what was going on. He hardly even remembered what had happened. Clark did know one thing was for sure though, and that was the last words he heard from his father. He said he loved him, and for him to hang in there. And at the moment, it was the only thing keeping him from just giving up and allowing darkness to slowly creep back over his mind.

Tick-tock...

The torture was too much for him, it was all new and too strong for someone who hadn't even had a cold in his life to deal with. His head was pounding; feeling like someone was inside his skull and hitting a hammer against his brain over and over again until he felt like he couldn't take it anymore. And compared to what else he was experiencing, that was nothing. His legs were as sore as ever, almost like he had recently ran a million miles without his powers and his arms were heavy and tender. His lungs burned with fire every time take he inhaled and exploded with twinge every time he exhaled. But most of all, his chest and stomach was in the most torment. It felt as if someone had just stabbed him, stuck their hands inside the wound and ripped his skin apart like it was nothing but a piece of paper. It was aching, raw, stinging, and nauseating all together. Pain that he couldn't even explain. Pain that he even couldn't handle.

Besides the racket of the grandfather clock, silence roamed around him, a thick silence that made him wonder if anyone was in the room or if he was just all alone. Clark didn't know anything at the moment but the anguish that was seizing through his whole body. He tried to moan out in pain, however, he couldn't even open his eyes, more less talk. It left him there closing his eyes tightly and listening to the only sound that he could pay attention too.

Tick-tock...

He started to wonder if that sound meant anything at all. It couldn't simply be there to annoy him while he was in a state of half consciousness. No, if nighttime was there and no one was around him to tell him if he was going to be all right, he had to listen to the clock and wonder what it was trying to tell him. He tried, but the only thing he could actually think about was either the throbbing that was cursing through his chest or the fact that he was unaided wanting to cry out for his parents. Where were they? Did they even care about him? Did they even worry that he was dying or in pain that he couldn't handle? Or were his father's words he said in a recent fight true?

Clark's face slowly unwrapped from the painful expression as he sucked in his trembling lips at the thought of Jonathan just sitting there, laughing as he died. He said he didn't care and here he was; awake for once with no one beside him. During that moment, the boy started to wonder if he was going to have to die alone.

Tick-tock...

Slowly, he rolled his head back over to the other side of the pillow and stuffed his nose inside the cushion, chewing on his bottom lip while trying his hardest to think of something else that didn't make him want to cry. What happened was the perfect thought to deliberate on too. Clark hardly remembered anything after he got shot this morning or however long ago it was. He didn't know what time it was or even what day it was, all he knew was that darkness had fell over his mind and now suddenly he woke up on some kind of divan in pure agony.

He did remember however seeing a man in the barn lurk over to him and point a gun to his body. After that, the last thing he heard was a loud bang of a gunshot and everything around him went dark. Yes, the pain and affliction was clear when his father tried to get the bullet out, but that was something he wanted to forget. Never had he experienced that kind of torture before and thinking about it didn't help. But after looking at his father's determined face one more time everything went dark around him and that was the last thing his mind recalled before he woke up where he was now, begging for his parents and for the pain to leave.

Tick-tock...

Allowing his thoughts to slowly drift away, Clark relaxed through the throbbing in his stomach as he leaned his head into the soft, comfortable pillow and rapidly noticed that his whole body was shaking. He was cold. Bone cold. Only a thin blanket covered him and it obviously wasn't enough. Chills shot down his spine and his lips quivered in draftiness as he tried to clutch the mantle over him nevertheless having trouble even picking up his hand to do so. All he could do was lay there in pain, coldness and misery.

How long was he going to do have to do this? Lay hoping for something that might never happen? How long was he going to have to wonder if his father hated him while listening to the sound of the clock tick in his ears and slowly drive him to insanity? Clark didn't know any answers to his questions and longed for them deeply. All he wanted was to be embraced by someone and hear that everything was going to be all right, because honestly, he didn't think he could handle knowing that it wasn't anymore. It was too hard to deal with.

Tick-tock...

He couldn't move. He couldn't talk, whisper, groan or even breathe right. All he could do was lay there in pure, utter suffering. He didn't know what he had done to deserve it, but whatever it was it must've been a pretty bad action with the pain he was feeling. He wanted to think about who had shot him and what was going to happen next, but he could only concentrate on the ache running through every part of his body. It was all he could do.

So Clark lay there, still, listening to the sound of the clock slowly tick his life away. Because that's what it was doing. Each sound showed him how much more time he was going to have left breathing and he prayed to God that the timepiece didn't stop because of that.

Tick tock.

To be Continued...


	13. The Awakening

Tranquility flowed through the living room of the Kent house as three people sat down in the area; four counting the unconscious boy on the couch. It was late in the night as Jonathan, Martha and Pete sat tired and weary waiting for the teen that had recently been shot and put through a colossal amount of anguish, to wake up from the oblivion that he had fallen deep into.

Sighing loudly, the father rubbed his eyes and leaned back in the hard chair he was now sitting in, after switching with his wife when he had seen the fatigue she was dealing with. He gulped loudly through his dry throat and leaned forward to the couch in front of him. It was almost as if the heartbreaking sight of his unconscious, pale son didn't even disturb him anymore with how long he had been staring at him -- hours straight just sitting there by the sofa waiting for him to wake up. But through all the hours, he hadn't. Jonathan quickly glanced at the clock on the wall and saw the time was two thirty in the morning, which meant him, his wife and his son's friend had woken up a half an hour ago after a few hours of sudden sleep.

Pete, who was still sitting on the floor, had his knees up to his chest and his chin resting on them sadly, his eyes closed and his mind half asleep again, as he thought about the troublesome day he and the parents had been dealing with. For him, he was still trying to recover from the episode that happened the morning that was now behind them while the parents just prayed to God that their son was going to be all right.

In the past seventeen hours Clark had been shot, had surgery practically done on him and the rest of the day was spent with everyone losing faith on him healing quickly like his body was suppose to. At the moment though, all Pete wanted was for his friend to wake up so he could apologize to him for the things he had said Friday night. The parents wanted pretty much the same thing too, only the father wanting to say sorry for the fight they had and the mother only wanting her little boy to be awake and healed. Their wishes weren't coming true however with the fact the teen was still deep in nothingness.

Blowing air through his cheek, Jonathan let his shoulders drop as he picked up the boy's insipid hand and held it in his, rubbing it softly and sucking in his lips to hold back the tears in his eyes as he listened to the drained voice of the other teen in the room speak. "A red bull sounds really good right now." Pete just about mumbled, turning his head over to the right side, leaning that cheek on his knees as Martha chuckled lightly, and Jonathan forced a small grin on his face for the boy's sake.

"You called your parents and told them you were spending the night, right honey?" The mother asked him, looking down at him as she sat up straight in the rocking chair and saw him nod his head with his eyes closed and his body half-sleeping.

"Yeah, I called them back up around nine." Pete said, yawning loudly afterwards as let his back rest completely on the sofa and blinked a few times when he opened his eyes to the brightness around him, even if only two lamps were dimly lit in the room. Just as Jonathan sighed and was about to reply though he suddenly froze, his eyes shooting wide and his body jumping up from his seat some when he felt something squeeze his hand weakly, and it wasn't until a feeble groan filled everyone's ears they saw what he was taken aback and stunned at.

"I think he's awake!" Jonathan exclaimed. As he sat down on his knees, he quickly let go of the wrist and held the boy's face softly with his hands as Martha and Pete dashed over to him, the mother right by the sofa and the other by the back of the couch, leaning over it so he could get a view of the now awake boy.

"Clark!" Martha nearly gasped, running her fingers through the teen's hair as Jonathan rubbed his skin softly and tilted his head to the side some. "Clark, how do you feel son?" He asked, licking his lips and exhaling to calm down his shaking nerves as Clark groaned heavily, attempting to roll his head over to the other side but failing with the fact that his cheeks were being held by his father's hands.

Gulping back the lump in his throat, Jonathan looked next to him at Martha, who looked like she was about to cry and then up at Pete who was wincing and balling his hands into tight fist to also keep himself from breaking down. The boy looked so weak and sick, his face as white as a sheet and his eyes closed tightly in pain as a thin layer of sweat formed on his forehead. Letting go of his face and running his hands through his dirty blonde hair, the older Kent sucked in his lips and rubbed Clark's hand softly as he rolled his head back and forth and whimpered tenderly.

"Clark, do you remember anything that happened?" Jonathan inquired, flinching loudly after he spoke just by speaking those words. It was hard to even talk about what happened the morning behind him, but asking his son, who had to deal with it all was the like swallowing fire. As everyone in the room held their breath to wait for the boy to answer, Clark practically felt himself close to tears with the throbbing all through his body.

It was hard enough to breathe, but at the moment he was straining to even open his eyes. His eyelids felt like they weighed a hundred pounds with how heavy they were, and when he finally could get them open, it was just enough so he could blurrily see his father's face and his mother's soft, caring expression. Nearly choking when he tried to speak, Clark coughed loudly and hoarsely while he tried to gasp for air, eventually finding his voice and opening up his mouth with all the strength he had left in them to mumble out one word.

"Shot." The vigor he had left in him disappeared after he said that and he closed his eyes gently in tiredness and anguish. The light felt like a knife was piercing into his eyeballs anyway, so the darkness that swept over his mind was almost pleasuring with the headache that was pounding into his head. It was the last of his worries though with the agony in his stomach and chest. Jonathan started to chew on his bottom lip after he heard his son reply, the reminiscences of what happened that morning flashing back as he nodded his head and stroke the boy's hand some more while he gulped back the lump in his throat.

"Y-…yeah. Do you remember anything after that?" Jonathan asked, feeling himself ball his hand up into a fist as he took a good look at the boy. He was a complete wreck. Never had he seen Clark like this, and that didn't make looking at him that very moment any better. Letting out a quite cough, one that didn't even escape his mouth, the teen wearily nodded his head and let his skull rest back in the soft, relaxing pillow that made him want to fall deep into slumber again.

"You-…you t-tried to…g-get the…b-b-bullet o-…out." Clark stammered, not being able to talk anymore, which made him unwind his tensed body into the sofa and roll his head over to the other side of the couch. Never in his life had the boy felt this groggy before. Besides the twinge aching in his stomach and chest, drowsiness enveloped his body, his arms and legs feeling like they had just done months of farm work without his powers and his mind wanting siesta so badly, as if he hadn't had sleep in years.

Jonathan winced when he heard those words, bowing his head down to the ground as he realized that his son was thinking the only reason he put him through so much pain, so much affliction was because he was angry with him, or didn't know that he would have died if he just let the bullet stay in his chest. The father knew he had no choice for his actions, but leaving the boy to die would be better then the anguish he was going through now. It killed him to know that, and it caused the sudden change in subject that he provided.

"What hurts son?" Jonathan queried, sniffing back the tears in his throat as Clark cracked his dry lips open and let out a breath of air that he was holding in just to try to stop the stinging in his chest and the strong nausea in his stomach while he replied when he found the power to talk.

"E-e…everything." He stumbled, squeezing his eyes tightly when a new pain washed over his whole body. It felt like someone had just punched him in the abdominal, making him want to heave out his innards. It was a feeling that was all new and all painful for him to experience.

"Oh sweetie." Martha softly cried out, bending down to her knees and pushing back Clark's damp with sweat hair as he wearily opened his eyes to see her gentle, compassionate, loving face looking down at him. He would have smiled if he had the strength too. Once again turning his head over to the other part of the couch, he moaned agonizingly when suddenly something caused him to stop and he darted his eyebrows down confused.

"Pete?" Clark choked out, thinking about trying to sit up but shaking off the thought when he realized it would be too hard for him as Pete looked over at Jonathan in worry, not knowing what to do with what the boy had said. Most of all, how was he suppose to talk to him while knowing he had just woken up from a seventeen hour unconsciousness? When it came down to a quick respond, two words were all he could come up with.

"Hey man." Behind the couch, Pete was digging his fingernails into the backboard, gulping loudly and biting his lip while he watched Clark gaze deep into his eyes and look at him confused and puzzled. "Wh-….what are y-you…doing h-here?" The farm boy asked, exhaling loudly afterwards as Pete once again looked at the father panicky, not wanting to answer the question one bit however realizing he had no choice. With one thought, he laughed nervously and shrugged a little while staring at the parents instead of the boy to actually speak the words he felt like a criminal for speaking.

"You know me man, just…dropped by for a friendly visit when your parents told me what happened." He lied. He had just lied to his best friend who was pretty much dying that very second. Pete didn't even know how he felt during that moment, besides guilty and immoral for what he had done. Not only then, but two nights ago.

The things he had said to Clark were just wrong, and he realized that now. Actually, he realized it less then three hours after he did say them, but the point was now, seeing Clark lying on the couch groaning in pain, he saw the emotional grief he had put him through. It was bad enough going to have to deal with the two girls he had left behind, but dumping all that weight on him on Friday night probably made his life even worse. Pete couldn't help but shake his head and sigh loudly while Martha sniffed and ran her fingers through the boy's hair and Jonathan kept his hand in his palm.

Silence was the only noise that filled the room after Pete's words were spoken besides the occasional whimpers from the teen lying on the couch. At least five minutes went by that everyone stood still until suddenly something caused everyone to snap their heads over to the sofa. Clark abruptly inhaled sharply, half way through shooting up from the couch when pain struck his body and he collapsed back down, placing his hand over his mouth as he closed his eyes tightly and gagged on the bile he was trying to hold back. Martha saw what was going on and she jumped up from her knees and tried to help the boy sit up.

"Jonathan, quick, get a bucket!" She shouted, placing her arm behind Clark's back to force him to sit up. And with the help of Pete they got him sitting upwards even through the grunts and cries he let out with his hand still over his mouth.

Luckily it wasn't long that Jonathan ran back and forth from the kitchen and he returned into the living room rapidly with a yellow kitchen bucket as he fell down to his knees, hitting the floor hard but getting the pail under Clark's mouth just in time. The boy couldn't hold back the vomit in his mouth anymore and immediately threw up in the bucket, gagging it all out, gasping for air in-between vomits as Martha rubbed him on the back, and Jonathan watched in sadness and repel at his son's heaves.

The time that Clark sat there throwing up wasn't long, but for the parents and the teen behind the couch, it felt like forever seeing him pant for breath and then have to vomit again. Finally, the queasiness started to slow down and the vomiting stopped. As Martha brushed away strands of hair on his glistening with sweat face, Jonathan swung his arm around and placed the bucket down on the end table when suddenly his wife's shriek caught him off guard and he spun around just in time to catch his son from falling back on the sofa.

"Clark!" Jonathan exclaimed, his hands on each of his shoulders as he gently lowered the Clark down on the sofa, his read resting on the left side of the pillow as he groaned softly and sporadically took hitched breathes. "Oh son." He whispered sadly as Martha covered her mouth with her hand and Pete lowered his head to the ground.

Pulling the thin blanket up to the teen's neck, the father sighed heavily and brought the rocking chair that was next to him closer to the couch and sat down in it as he could see Pete and Martha looking at him alarmed and worriedly. He could only lean forward and blow air through his cheeks as he listened to the boy whimper half consciously and see his wife and the other teenager look at him for wise words.

"It's going to be a long night." Jonathan simply told them. And as he sat there watching Clark cry out in suffering, he merely wondered what was going to happen next.

To be Continued…


	14. Guilty disputes and unaided questions

"Thirty-six cups of coffee on the wall, thirty-six cups of coffee. You take one down, pass it around, thirty-six cups of coffee still on the wall." The living room in the Kent house was silent and peacefully for the early morning, around three to be exact, as everyone in the area tried to stay awake. It was silent besides the signing of a seventeen year old boy sitting on the floor with his knees to his chest and his elbows resting on them bored and tiredly while his chin was placed in his hands.

It had been at least an hour since the sleeping teen on the couch had finally woken up, and since then he had fallen asleep once again, leaving them with nothing to do but wait by his side hoping something would change in his condition. Sitting in the rocking chair that was by the top of the couch where the boy's head was resting, was Jonathan - a steaming mug in his hands as he rested his neck on the back of the hard chair. Lounging on the floor near him was Pete, who had stayed in the same spot for the entire night's duration. As the only alert teenager in the room, Pete sluggishly sung out a song of his boredom. It wasn't annoying the father though. It in fact kept him from falling asleep.

Yawning loudly, Pete turned his head over and laid his cheek down on his hands so he was looking directly at the man sitting in the seat. Jonathan brought the cup he had in his hands up to his mouth and gulped it down. Exhaling afterwards and setting it down on the end table next to him, he watched the boy stare at the cup, then him, then the cup again before taking a deep breath and then sighing heavily himself.

"Thirty-five cups of coffee on the wall, thirty-five cups of coffee." Pete sung, getting a laugh out of Jonathan while watching him shake his head and lean back into the rocking chair, which went back and forth until he stopped the pattern from going on with his feet.

"Didn't know you had the talent to turn an annoying car song into… An annoying regular song, Pete." The teen laughed some while Jonathan forced a weary grin on his face, looking over at him and seeing him shrug and sit up straight to lean on the couch backboard and close his drowsy eyes with somewhat of a groan.

"Yeah, well, I think you can do about anything at ten past three in the morning." Pete simply replied, hitting his head on the wood for a second to wake himself up as suddenly another person came walking into the room and he opened up his eyes to see a red haired woman come strolling up to him with a blue coffee beaker in her hands. Bending down to him, she let the boy take it from her as she smiled resignedly, her eyes heavy and tired looking while she forced a small grin on her lips.

"You can go upstairs and get some sleep honey; you really don't have to stay up with us." Martha pointed out, walking over to a kitchen chair that was beside her husband and next to the couch when the teen took the cup and shook his head while he yawned once again.

"No, I'm good. I don't think I could sleep anyway." Pete merely left it at that, knowing that honestly he did not want to tell the Kent's that he was still and was probably going to be for a long time shaken up by what he saw a while ago. There was just so much blood; so much screaming that had happened that was lingering in his mind. He didn't know how he could even dare to sleep with that and the fact that his best friend was on the sofa he was leaning against practically dying. Pete could still see the face that the boy held when he asked what he was doing there, which meant it was obvious the fight they had was bothering him.

Dropping the thought immediately however when he knew he would take it too far and be guilt ridding himself even more then he already was, the dark colored boy licked his lips and took a sip of the coffee that was in the mug he now held when suddenly a noise caused him to freeze. He wasn't the only one either. Martha and Jonathan snapped their heads over to the sofa where they heard a weak yet hearable moan that came from the boy lying on the couch rolling his head back and forth.

"Is he waking up?" Pete asked right away, standing up to his knees and crawling over to the couch to look over at the man and see him jadedly nod his head while lean forward in the rocking chair and grab the boy who laid on the couch's hand dolefully.

"Hey Clark." Jonathan whispered softly, stroking the skin on the palm gently as Clark groaned heavily and leaned his head over on the pillow so when he opened his eyes he could be looking at his father who wearily put a smile on his face. The teen could hardly see it though with his eyesight so blurry and his mind only focused on trying to stay awake and remembering where he was and what had happened. He was so out of it at the moment that he didn't notice the other two people in the room until his mother's fingers running through his hair came to his awareness and his friend being by him along with the two adults was in view.

"How are you feeling sweetie?" Martha sympathetically inquired, tilting her head to the side despondently while the boy moaned and cracked open his dry lips to mumble out a few words that almost couldn't be heard, and when they were, sadness dropped in everyone's bodies at the cry the boy let out.

"It…i-it h-hurts…so m-much mom." Clark whimpered, closing his eyes tightly and letting out a silent cry as Martha covered her mouth with her hand with tears in her eyes and Jonathan simply sat still, staring at his hurting son in misery. The pain he was going through plainly showed by the few actions he gave and the cries he let out, which made the father feel even more worse for what he had done to make his own child feel like that. Gulping down the large lump in his throat that threatened to bring water to his eyes, the man licked his lips and nodded his head, having to take a moment to gather up his strength again from the words the teen had spoken.

"I know son…just hang in there, everything's going to be all right." Jonathan reassured him, while doing so his conscious screaming at him loudly and clearly for lying to the boy. He knew everything wasn't going to be all right, but what was he suppose to do anyways, tell him he was dying an excruciating death? It was the only choice he had. The thought did not help much however since he was telling himself the same thing for what he had done to the teen about eighteen hours ago.

Moaning, Clark sucked in a deep breath of air that he soon regretted doing so, a burning fire being lit in his chest at the inhale that caused him to wince and bit his lower lip while uncontrollably squeezing his father's hand weakly. It was irrepressible that he found his voice and spoke through the agony though. "W-what day…is it?" The farm boy asked, gulping loudly and opening his eyes once the pain faded away as his parents exchanged glances and debated whether they should tell him. The time was too long they thought though and the other teenager in the room spoke up.

"Well, to be exact it's Sunday. But you know, most people don't change dates until they wake up, and when they wake up at two in the morning they just call it the day it was, so really it's Saturday. But if you want to be technical, yeah, it's Sunday." Pete blinked after he said that, pausing for a second and sitting back down on the floor in wonder to what he had truly just spoken.

"Sorry…uh, hyped up on the caffeine." He chuckled nervously, shutting up suddenly however when he saw his friend looking at him in confusion. Pete saw soon even if he did sound weird that it wasn't his words that confused him. It was the fact that both days he had said were so far apart from the last time he remembered being awake and not in the pain and smarting, he was in now.

"Sunday? How…long was I…out?" Clark breathed, trying to ignore the agonizing throbbing in his stomach and the nausea that was overwhelming him, making him want to throw up his guts and then just die right there. Being dead was better then suffering the pain, he was feeling now anyways. The feelings and tortures he was experiencing were too much for him to handle, and sometimes he wondered if dying was just the best for him.

Running his hands down his face, Jonathan sighed loudly and leaned forward even some more as he held his son's hand gently. "A while." The father simply exhaled, balling his other free hand into a feeble fist while silence took over the room. Nevertheless was it only for a short time, and it wasn't long until the enervated voice spoke up again, this time locking his eyes on his father's face and looking at him a little puzzled and a little hurt through the anguish that undoubtedly showed all over his expression.

"Dad…" Clark choked out, inhaling once again and taking in the sudden yet expected twinge that engulfed him.

"What…what happened?" He queried, licking his arid lips afterwards as Jonathan looked up at him and gazed at his face. The father couldn't find the right words to reply with to what he had just asked. He knew what he meant but at the same time wondered what he truly wanted to know. Jonathan knew that he knew he was shot, but didn't know who did shoot him and what had fully happened. He wondered if he wanted to know about the other things that had happened before he was shot however. It left him no choice but to take a deep breath and lean back into the chair he sat in to answer his question with the only thing he wanted to say.

"You…you were shot and I made a stupid choice by….by taking the bullet out." Jonathan reminded him, the whole room knowing what he meant by 'taking the bullet out' as he watched Clark groan and close his eyes while he remembered it all. Seeing someone lurking in the barn, everything going black, waking up, talking to his friend who was in the living room that very moment, and then screaming out the yelps that to that moment still made his throat dry and croaky. As he did recall it all, he could hear his mother's soft but very angry voice come into his ears.

"Jonathan, you did what you had to do." Martha austerely told him for what seemed like the millionth time, understanding that her husband felt guilty for having to do dangerous engrave on his son but not seeing why he was taking it to the level of thinking there was something else he could have done. Closing his eyes for a second and sitting up straight to look at his wife, the father balled his hands into tight fist once more while he replied to what the woman had said.

"Yeah, and because of that Clark's dying Martha." Jonathan informed her, taking a deep breath afterwards as he ignored even looking at his son after he said that, knowing that he had to be shocked for what he had heard and even more scared then he already was now knowing he was dying. And while he did ignore the red haired woman made the boy's presence for a moment a retort in the room.

"What else were you going to do Jonathan? Just let him sit there and be killed by the Kryptonite? You had no choice!" Martha exclaimed, shooting up from her knees as she did while both didn't hear a weak and frail voice enter the living room, and the only person who heard it was the other teen sitting down on the floor who snapped his head over to his friend on the sofa. He was just about to speak up when another shout was made and cut him off from even taking an inhale to speak.

"Damn it Martha, what I did is killing him now for crying out loud. If I didn't cut him to get that bullet out he wouldn't be on this couch fighting for his life!" Jonathan bellowed, also standing up from his seat and pointing his finger over to the divan in anger.

"Mr. Kent…" Pete finally spoke up, his voice however like a whisper compared to the yelling the couple was doing. "No, he wouldn't even be here! Jonathan-" Angered, the dark colored boy stood up and closed his eyes tightly as he opened his mouth and cut of the mother from finishing what she had to say.

"Mr. Kent!" Pete hollered over the voices, getting the man to turn over to him with upset eyes and an infuriated expression.

"What Pete!?" Jonathan snapped back, his hands still in tight fist as suddenly he saw, or more say heard what the teen was trying to say when a fragile voice was heard through the silence that had lastly took it's place in the area again.

"Dad…" Clark hoarsely said as loud as he could, trying to sit up on the couch but ending up falling down immediately at the pain that took over his chest and stomach. And with his arms being as weak as they were where he could hardly even move a finger, so when his father bent down to his knees instantly so he was face to face with him he was able to relax once more and sigh with somewhat of a cry.

"Clark, what is it son?" Jonathan softly asked, his voice now gentle and calm as the boy gulped loudly to get his throat moist to speak again while he rolled his head over to the side and looked straight into his father's eyes as his own eyelids started to close in tiredness.

"Who…who shot me?" Clark inquired. Straight away Jonathan froze, and as Martha and Pete looked at each other worriedly, the father didn't know how to answer his son's question. At the moment the teen needed to get well again, none less stay alive--he didn't know if he could dare to tell him who had actually almost killed him with the condition he was in.

"Dad, I have…a-a right to know…w-who did do this t-to…me." Clark stumbled, showing his father through his expression that he wanted to know who was lurking in the barn after all and fired a gunshot at him that was made out of his only weakness. Gulping loudly and running his hand down his face, the older Kent sighed and shook his head dejectedly.

"I don't know who he was Clark…but he said his name was Morgan Edge." This time it was the boy on the couch who froze in pure utter alarm at what he had just heard.

"W-…what?" Clark didn't even know if his voice could even be heard, all he did know was that he was shocked at what he was told. It was as if someone had just dropped a ton of bricks on his head, or shot him suddenly, which the feeling for him was something he could compare to. It couldn't be true though, no. Yeah, he was expecting someone he knew to have been the one who had shot him, but not that one name that was just spoken.

Seeing something wrong with his son, the father leaned forward and looked at the boy's face seriously. "Clark, did you know this guy?" Jonathan asked, watching Clark gape his mouth open some and wince as he closed his eyes to avoid looking at the man in fear of what he was going to have to say next. And just when he was about to talk, he suddenly realized something in the words of what his father had said.

"What do you mean by…'did'?" The boy questioned as both him and the father looked at each other in fear. The room went silent after those words were said too as both Jonathan and Clark knew that they were going to have to confess to each other secrets that would affect both in different ways. But for now, the room stayed silent, and remained that way while the father and son gazed at each other fretfully…

To be Continued…


	15. Raining Sorrows

Stillness ricocheted through the Kent living room as Jonathan and Clark continued to simply stare at each other in fear of saying something, the quietness that roamed around the room deafening and an intense torture that had been there for over three minutes now because of the questions that had been asked from the father and son. While Pete, who was sitting on the floor, looked at his friend's father worriedly, Martha had her hand on her chest in sorrow and shock from what was happening while she watched her husband and son look at each other in fear.

"Dad…what did you do?" Clark choked out, his voice still in a quiet whisper from the pain that pervaded his body as Jonathan closed his eyes gently and gulped loudly, sucking in his lips and then sighing as he stood up from his knees and cracked his dry lips open to force himself to speak.

"It's not important Clark, right now you just need to rest." He told him, ignoring the almost annoyed exhale that came from Pete when he looked down at the floor and saw him lean back into the couch again while putting his head in his hands at his answer. It was obvious that he didn't want to tell his son that he had killed a man, and everyone but the boy himself knew that. After Jonathan said those words though an instant shout was made, and when it was, the older Kent brought his head up and saw his son attempt to shoot up from the couch with the strength he had left to do so.

"It is important dad! What happened-" Clark's voice was cut off with a sudden yelp from his mouth as he held his stomach tightly in pain while he fell back down on the sofa immediately. Clutching his teeth together firmly when he did, different colors roamed around in his eyes as he listened to his mother's cry enter his ears and darkness try to sweep over his mind again from the smart burning that suddenly besieged him.

"Clark!" Martha shrieked, rushing over to the boy and falling down to her own knees as she brushed away the strands of hair from his sweating face while looking up at her husband fearfully. "Jonathan, he's in pain – we have to do something!" She exclaimed, turning her head back over to the teen when he cried out again and threw his skull into the pillow that was under his head in anguish. Taking a few steps up to her, the older man bent down once more to be eye-to-eye level with the teen as he watched him struggle to not scream out in pain on the divan.

"There's nothing we can do Martha." Jonathan whispered just loud enough for his wife to hear, yet not in earshot for the boy on the couch to pick up. Feeling a tear slid down her face, Martha covered her mouth with her fingers as she stood up from her knees and walked backwards from the sofa so she could stand still and try not to break down as she watched her son cry out in pain. Chewing on his bottom lip as he also tried not to cry himself, Jonathan hesitated to move his hand forward and grab his own son's hand, backing away a few times when the boy tossed some and grunted in torment before finally gently grabbing and stroking it gently to comfort him.

"Hang in there Clark…" Jonathan said, watching Clark open his eyes up in torment and blink away the dripping sweat that was soaking his face as he gazed into his father's eyes and looked past the fear and worry to see the love and concern that he held. Not less then a few seconds after he did however, he felt a strong wave of nausea overwhelmed him, and he didn't even have time to take in the pain that engulfed his body before obscurity took over him and he closed his eyes softly to allow the darkness wash over him.

Seeing this, Jonathan sighed heavily and felt the hand in his palm go limp, causing him to stand up just a little to sit down in the rocking chair right behind him and hold the hand in his tenderly. "Hang in there son." He whispered, listening to the silence that had once come and go enter the room again and haunt his ears to leave him in a painful contemplation of regret and guilt.

--------------

Heavy wind knocked on the windows of the living room as pitch darkness flowed the area while the only sound besides the blustery weather outside was the light snoring that came from the two men in the area. With the teenager keeping his spot on the floor next to the couch, the father sat in the rocking chair with his hands placed on the armrest of the seat on each side tiredly while he slept deep in slumber. The only difference in the scene from what had been there at least two hours ago was the fact that one person wasn't there for once, and that was the red-haired woman who was in the dark kitchen asleep at the table with her head in her arms and tears drying on her face as she slumbered herself.

It was now early in the morning even though pure gloom still meandered around the exterior, the time around three forty-two as inside the Kent house no lights whatsoever were lit, the only brightness that did illuminate the room was the moon that shined outside. Whereas on the sofa was a suffering yet unconscious Clark, a light blue pajama shirt now covering his upper body, below him and by his feet was a half-awake Pete, who sighed heavily and rolled his head over the other way on his neck as he listened to the all-consuming tranquility fill his ears.

While the two parents in the house were fast asleep, he couldn't seem to even get a little bit of tiredness to overcome him. Ever since the fight that Jonathan and Martha had and his friend asked if he could know the truth to who had shot him, he couldn't seem to find sleep even if he was more exhausted then he ever remember being. All he could do was sit where he was and worry about what was going to happen next.

Sighing loudly, he straightened his position on the floor and rubbed his eyes wearily, placing his head on his knees afterwards and closing his eyes gently when just as he felt his mind let the thoughts that haunted him to leave, a sudden noise snapped him back to awareness and he looked around bemused for where the sound came from. When it entered his ears again, he took notice of the fact that it was a painful and anguished groan that obviously came from his friend who was above him on the brown leather sofa.

"Clark?" Pete whispered, getting up and crawling on his knees over to the top part of the couch where he saw through the darkness the boy rolling his head back and forth with heavy moans and profound breathes escaping his mouth.

"Clark, you awake?" He asked, his voice a little louder as he only got another laborious and rowdy whimper from his friend. Biting his lip, he spun around and got off his knees so he could take at least two steps forward to be in front of the older Kent that was fast asleep in the rocking chair and shake his shoulder as he tried not to panic when the groans started to become harsher and more labored.

"Mr. Kent! Mr. Kent, wake up!" Pete hollered as after a few shakes and yells the father snapped awake and looked at him confused. "Pete? What is it?" Jonathan inquired, closing his eyes tightly and rubbing them to arouse and stay awake as he squinted to make out the figure that was standing in front of him. Being as he was so tired, he didn't take notice of the cries that filled the room.

"I-It's Clark, he just suddenly woke up and-" Not even being able to finish his sentence, Pete watched Jonathan shoot up from the chair and bend down to the couch to be eye-level with his son, seeing through the shadows his face forming sweat and his groans echoing in the room.

"Clark, son?" Jonathan nearly spoke in a whisper, running his rough fingers through his son's hair as he watched him roll his head over to face him and crack his eyes open resignedly with a moan. Smiling reassuringly, the father stroked the boy's cheek gently as he whimpered some more.

"It's okay Clark, it's dad. I'm here…I'm here now, it's all right." Jonathan closed his own eyes softly when he said those words, remembering when he would have to say that to the boy when he was younger and would have nightmares about being kidnapped because of his secret. Every night until he didn't have them anymore both him and Martha would have to rush in and comfort him, then stay in the room until he fell asleep to show him things were okay. Never had he thought he'd be saying them again to tell him that he was going to be all right physically and not emotionally for once.

Gulping back the lump in his throat, Jonathan snapped back to reality where he listened to the teen on the sofa speak in almost a groan. "S-so….so…c-c-cold." Clark stammered, his lips quivering with both draftiness tears and as Jonathan looked behind him at the other boy who was still standing alarmed and distressed by the rocking chair.

"Pete, in the hall closet there should be a blue comforter and a few blankets, bring them out here for me." He told him, getting a simple nod from Pete before he jogged out of the living room and into the hallway. As he did, Jonathan clutched his teeth together tightly and stared off into the darkness as his son groaned heavily in pure agony. He couldn't even imagine the pain he was going through, and that killed him inside more then ever. Before he could even get deep into his thoughts however, a weak and tormented voice snapped his eyes over to the sofa to see the teen looking straight into his eyes even through the darkness with a moan.

"D-Dad…a-are…a-are you…s-still…a-angry…a-at m-me f-for…r-running aw-away?" Clark choked out, licking his dry lips a little after he did as Jonathan's eyes went somewhat wide and his jaw fell a few inches when he heard those words. There his son was, dying and in pain wondering if he was still upset with him for something he didn't even want to say. It shocked him to the point where he didn't even know if he was still breathing. Silence plunged between the two until Pete came walking back into the room carrying a large coverlet and a home made quilt, stopping when he saw the two however and wincing some when he could feel the uncomfortable tension that roamed in the place.

"Uh…M-Mr. Kent?" Pete called out, holding out the blankets some as Jonathan closed his eyes gently and got up from his bending spot to sigh heavily and walk past the teenager in misery.

"Watch over him Pete." He simply said, not even bothering to go on with the tears that were already crackling in his voice as the standing teen spun around and watched him walk over to the front door, dropping the blankets as he did.

"Mr. Kent, wait! Where are you going?" Pete called out louder then he wanted, knowing that the mother in the kitchen was still fast asleep as he waited for the older man to reply but never getting an answer to his question. Instead, he watched him grab the keys that were on the end table next to the entry door and listened to the font entrance open up and the screen door after that so they could close with a bang and leave him standing in both confusion and desolation.

--------------

Outside, Jonathan jogged down the porch steps of the yellow house with water floating around in his eyes, the liquid burning as more formed and forcing the tears to rim around the corners when he refused to let them drop to his face. Stuffing his left hand deep inside his pocket, the man sighed heavily and bowed his head to the ground as he watched his feet move quickly and listened to the sound of keys jingling in his palms when he took them out of his jean pouches.

As he trotted over to the red truck that was parked in the driveway of the farm, he immediately threw his hands on the handle to the driver's seat door, however, hesitating on opening it up right away. It hit him that he knew he couldn't run away from his problems now. Clark needed him more then ever, doing the same thing he did three months ago wasn't going to make things better. Sighing loudly, he let the keys he had in his hands drop down to the dirt ground below him, hearing them hit the terrain with a clank as he let his forehead strike the window of the door with a bang.

He still felt guilty. The boy still felt guilty for something he didn't even do even as he laid on the sofa inside his living room slowly fading away to fatality. Never had Jonathan felt so afflicted in his whole life then that very moment as he stood still with his head resting on the windowpane to the truck that was in front of him. He could have changed everything if he just didn't let his feelings get the better of him.

Maybe if he had ended the conflict sooner then they could have gotten out of the barn and the boy would have never been shot. Maybe if he never said the words he said then his son wouldn't be worrying if he was still angry with him for something he didn't even mean to say. Maybe if he had just been a better father then he wouldn't be feeling the remorse he was feeling now. He could have done so many things to change what was going on right now, but he didn't. And he knew that if he could go back in time and amend everything that had happened in the past nineteen hours, he would.

Gulping back the lump that was in his throat, Jonathan sucked in his lips and looked up in the sky that was dark with almost black clouds that were gradually covering up the shinning moon that glimmered in the heavens above him. Turning around and leaning his back against the car door, Jonathan blew air through his cheeks and tilted his neck up to stare at the murky sky above him in misery.

All he wanted was for things to go back to normal. He didn't want to have to see his son who had never been hurt before in the way he was now crying out in pain. He wanted to see him smile the broad grin that would always cheer him up when he thought that things were never going to be as happy and cheerful they were before. He wanted Clark to get better, and it wasn't that much to ask in his case. A simple healing, or at the point they were at now, miracle was all he asked for. It wasn't that much to ask for… or was it?

Jonathan groaned mournfully at the thought, sighing loudly afterwards and closing his eyes gently as he ran his hands down his tired face and gazed up at the skies over top of him, hearing a loud rumble of thunder echo his ears as he did while he licked his lips and choked back more tears that threatened to fall out of his eyes.

"Why are you doing this to him? He did nothing to deserve this!" Jonathan shouted, balling his hands into tight fist as he saw a tremble of lighting fill his eyes and send shivers rushing down his spine while he stood still and tried to keep himself from shedding the water that he desired to discard.

Not less then thirty seconds after he said those words to no one though another boisterous roar of thunder roared into his hearing and he nearly flinched when rain rapidly poured down from the sky and hit the ground below him hard. He didn't run back into his house like anyone else would even if he didn't want to get saturated with water. Jonathan simply stayed motionless as his clothes, body and hair got soaked with the rain that teemed from the sky. And as it did, he let out a loud cry while closing his eyes tightly and feeling his own tears slide down his cheeks even though it was hardly noticeable with the other water that was dripping down his face.

"I'm sorry Clark…I'm so sorry." He nearly cried, running his fingers through his drenched dirty blonde hair while he looked up at the sky and watched a flicker of lighting flash across his eyes once more. It was then that he suddenly realized and understood why his son ran away in the first place three months ago. The pain of being redundant and the torture of the guilt that ate you inside being to overwhelming to handle, and if it wasn't for the fact that he knew the boy needed him he would have ran faster then the boy himself ran. But he didn't, and that's what caused him to stay where he was allowing the rain that fell from the sky to fall on him and hopefully wash away the sorrow that he felt.

To be Continued…


	16. A Plan to plan

Rain poured down from the dark and overcast sky down in Smallville, as at the Kent farm and walking inside the gloomy and dark yellow house of the ranch was Jonathan Kent, who was drenched with the water that was heaving down from the heavens outside and nothing but a despondent expression on his face. The time now was around four in the early morning; however, the outdoors looking like it was midnight with the murky and teeming skies and humid atmosphere. For the father who was dragging his legs up the porch of the home with his head bowed down to his feet though, the whole twenty hours he had been living seemed like an eternity of pure wretchedness.

Sighing loudly, Jonathan ran his fingers through his sodden dirty blonde hair and smeared away the liquid that was dripping down his face so he could take a deep breath and place his hand on the knob of the door that was in front of him. Opening it up, he could instantly feel the rush of warm air from the dwelling hit his body and cause trembles to uncontrollably escape his shoulders with the loving emotion his own home held, and the sentiment would have been so idyllic if it wasn't for the everlasting despair that he felt within his body.

The second he took a step into the house nevertheless, his feet bringing irrigate to the place mat he walked on, he could hear the sound of chairs screeching on kitchen wood and in his sight two people come running up to him. Another exhale fell out of his lips as he saw this too, and Jonathan only simply took off his wet coat and threw it on the floor in misery while he listened to his wife and the teenager in the abode let out their shouts for his sudden and long absence.

"Jonathan, your soaking wet! Where have you been?" Martha exclaimed, her eyes wide when she saw her husband's approach as she sprinted up to him. Instead of getting the reply that told her where the man had been for over an hour, leaving her and the boy panicked and worried, she saw him walk past her with his shoulder bumping into hers forlornly.

"It doesn't matter." Jonathan merely said, rubbing his tired and restless eyes in exhaustion as he walked into the kitchen, and right when he was about to take a seat in one of the chairs that was already pulled out, he listened to the words that he dreaded to hear enter his ears.

"Mr. Kent, Clark has been getting worse." Pete told him, gulping loudly as he watched the father spin around and look at him in fear and alarm. "What?" Jonathan felt like he had yelled those words at the top of his lungs when in reality, they came out in a small and weak whisper as Martha took a step in front of the downcast teenager and put her hands up in the air somewhat in despondency.

"He keeps waking up in coughing fits Jonathan-he can hardly even breathe anymore." Martha choked out with her voice stumbling in misery, as Jonathan immediately didn't waste any time standing around when he heard this. He forced his drained legs to run out of the kitchen and into the living room with both Pete and Martha following him, and he fell down to his knees at the couch where his son laid moaning in agony and clutching onto the blankets laying on top of him as tight as he could with his right hand.

"Clark, Clark son, it's dad. I need you to wake up Clark." Jonathan softly spoke into his ear, watching him roll his head over and gulp saliva down his dry and irritated throat as he blinked away the sweat that was on his eyelids and cracked his dry lips open to force a weary smile on his face.

"Hey dad. You…get that tractor…fixed?" Clark whispered with a slight chuckle, closing his eyes tightly in pain afterwards as Jonathan snapped his head to his wife, who was standing by the end table with tears clearly forming in her eyes from the boy's condition.

"He's delusional--Martha, go in the kitchen and get a wet washcloth to bring down the fever some." He told her, seeing her immediately scamper out of the living room while he turned back to the boy who was groaning wearily and trying to keep himself from passing out because of the burning and throbbing anguish that was in his stomach and chest. Brushing away the few strands of hair that was in front of his eyes, the father strained a grin on his lips while he stared into the eyes of his son that held nothing but pain and anguish, wanting him to be able to take it all away but knowing that he couldn't do anything like that.

"Seriously Mr. Kent, where were you? You were gone for over an hour." Pete suddenly spoke up, walking closer to the man as Jonathan sighed heavily and dropped his eyes to the floor while he listened closely to what the boy had said. It was obvious that his choice to leave the two, even if it was only for a short time, was a huge mistake. His son could have died any second while he was outside wanting time to turn back so he could change everything that had happened. Licking his lips, he shook his head and combed Clark's hair back with his fingers as he looked up at the ceiling for a second before staring back at the teen on the sofa dejectedly.

"I told you Pete, it doesn't matter." Jonathan's words only made Pete sigh himself and roll his eyes at the man's stubbornness as he fell down in the rocking chair beside the older Kent and gazed sadly at his friend, who put all his effort into opening his eyes to look at his father somnolently.

"I-It…w-won't stop h-hurting…dad." Clark stumbled, water glistening his eyes as he closed his eyelids after saying those words and he drew in a loud yet painful breathe of air to keep him from crying out in torment. While Pete balled his hand into a tight fist and placed his elbow on the armrest of the rocking chair so he could put his knuckles to his mouth, Jonathan felt his lips moving but no words coming out, and he nodded his head leisurely while he kept brushing the boy's hair with his fingers.

"I know son…I know. Just hang in there." Jonathan couldn't feel himself go on any longer with the shame of trying to tell the teen everything was okay when deep down inside they both knew that it wasn't. Gently taking Clark's hand in his, he cupped it with his fingers as he held it to his face and closed his eyes while listening to the sound of the heavy, hurting groans fill his ears. He couldn't even imagine how much pain his son was going through right now. It killed him that he had to go through this aching hell too. No one as caring and benevolent as him should be going through the torture he was dealing with that very moment.

Suddenly being snapped out of his dismay thoughts though, Jonathan turned his head behind him to see his wife come trotting back into the living room with a damp rag in her hands, and he let go of Clark's wrist so he could grab it from her and compel a fake smile on his lips.

"Thanks honey." He said, turning back over to his son as he dabbed away the shinning sweat on Clark's face with the washcloth before laying it down gently on his forehead while he moaned weakly and rolled his head over to the other side of the couch. As he did, the room stood silent until one worried voice spoke up.

"Mr. Kent, what are we going to do? Clark isn't getting any better; I don't even think he's healed any yet." Pete told him, looking over at Martha who was standing next to him and then glancing over at the father who sat still on his knees, gaping at the sick and whimpering boy on the divan in front of him. The man knew he couldn't reply with 'I don't know' anymore. Things were getting way out of hand to just sit around and do nothing now, if his son was going to make it to see the next day he was going to have to do something-even if it was just figuring out a plan.

Hearing a faint groan enter his ears, Jonathan sucked in his lips sorrowfully as he watched Clark slowly loose his struggle to stay conscious, his breaths becoming steadier and less moans escaping his mouth when abruptly the father turned his head over to the teenager sitting in the rocking chair.

"Uh, h-how about you go upstairs and get another pillow for him Pete." Jonathan suggested. Pete sat motionless for a few seconds however as he looked at the man's eyes and saw what he really wanted. It was obvious that he needed to do something that he didn't want him in the room for, the fact not making any sense since he sat through watching him practically perform surgery on his friend as he nodded his head slowly while getting up from the seat gradually to back over to the staircase with a loud exhale.

"Okay." Pete nearly whispered to the man as he made his way over to the steps and gradually walked up them to the second floor. While he did, Jonathan turned back over to Clark, pulling away the blankets that covered his body and hearing his teeth start to chatter a little after he did while he bit his tongue so hard he thought it was going to crack. The blue pajama top that was once azure was now leaking dark red blemishes by his stomach, and Martha covered her mouth with both of her hands in sorrow as she saw this.

Slowly lifting the shirt up, shudders falling upon the boy when his father's cold and wet fingers touched his skin, Jonathan gulped loudly as he saw the bloody gauze seeping out more of the crimson liquid from his abdomen and chest, and he closed his eyes gently as he shook his head. "He's losing so much blood." He whispered miserably while he crossed his hands together on top of Clark's stomach and put pressure down on his torso, trying his best to ignore the whimper that the boy let out when he did as he looked over at his wife next to him.

"Martha, um, can you go get some more gauze?" Jonathan asked, seeing her nod her head and rush out of the living room yet again, as he looked back over at the teen on the couch. Just the few seconds he sat there seemed like forever with the remembrance of the last time he had to do this, and he wanted to cheer out in relief when Martha came back into the room with a roll of gauze in her hands.

Taking it away from her, he simply wrapped a few strands around his son's stomach before tapping it down with the medical tape that his wife also brought for him as he lowered the shirt down and pulled the blankets back up to bring warmth to Clark once again which made the shivers his body let out slowly stop.

A few seconds after he finished doing that the sound of someone coming down the steps filled the room, and Jonathan snapped his head over to the staircase where Pete came jogging down with a white pillow in his hands. Walking over to the father, he handed it to him and almost neglected the false smile he gave him as a thank you while he took a seat back down in the rocking chair and watched the parents continued to try to help his injured friend.

Lifting up Clark's head slowly, the older Kent in the room placed the pillow down on the sofa and gently lowered the neck on the cushion with a sigh as the boy cracked his eyes opened and looked straight at his father with a groan.

"Everything's going to be okay son." Jonathan comforted him with a soft, tender voice as he saw his son's pained expression, stroking his cheek as he watched Clark try to open his mouth, only to have the strength to do so suddenly disappear. He felt so immobilized by the agony that ran through his body. He could hardly even talk without fire burning in his chest, and each breath he took was like being stabbed with an acid blade that made him want to fall into oblivion so badly.

Finally breaking his lips apart, he took a deep breath and tried to disregard the torture that flew through his body as he stared into his father's kind and comforting eyes. "I-I'm…I'm d-dying…aren't I…dad?" Clark asked, his words making the whole room fall mute as Martha held back her sob and Pete mumbled out a 'oh god' as he put his head in his hands wretchedly. Jonathan simply sat taken aback at what the boy had said unlike the others though. He didn't have any idea how to reply to what he had asked. He either had the choice to lie, which he was sick of doing, or to tell the truth, which would just be stupid with the already vulnerable state the teen was in.

Jonathan leisurely looked behind him at his wife with sad eyes that broke her heart, the panic of not knowing what to say filling his body, as he took rickety breathes and slowly turned back over to the sofa where his son laid. Grabbing his hand gently in his, the father sucked in his lips to hold back the water in his eyes as he gulped back the lump in his throat and nodded his head shakily.

"I-…I think so Clark." Never had saying those simple words before felt like such a task to do. His voice stumbled in tears as his words were nearly cut off with the bulge in his windpipe that made him want to cry all while he saw the terror that Clark's eyes held when he answered his question. He wished that very moment that he had lied to him instead of telling him the reality of what was going on with just the fear and heartache that his face had. The father could have sworn that the physical pain his son was feeling was replaced with the trepidation he could see in his eyes too.

"Dad…" Clark whispered as a tear slid down his cheek and dropped to his neck. "I don't want t-to die." Jonathan couldn't help but allow the sobs that were wrecking through his throat escape his lips as he held the hand he had in his palm in a tighter grip while besides the sound of his wife's own cry he heard the choked breathes of the boy on the couch.

"Everything's going to be all right Clark, you're going to be all right." Jonathan assured him with a teary and crackling voice, this time not having the feeling like he was lying since he knew after he heard those words actually come out of his son's mouth he wasn't going to let him go anywhere. Feeling a tear drop down from his eyes and fall down on the couch below him, the father sniffed loudly and took a good look at the nearly crying boy in front of him. The anguished look he detained was just too much to take anymore, and Jonathan simply got up from his knees to let go of the hand he held that dropped back down on the sofa so he could back away and gulp loudly.

"Pete, keep an eye over him, I-…I'll be right back." He told them, spinning around and praying he'd make it out of the living room before anyone spoke up. He wasn't even able to make it another step before an angry voice entered his eyes on the other hand, and he bit his lower lip firmly to hold back the water that he wanted to let fall down his face.

"Mr. Kent!" Pete exclaimed, shooting up from the rocking chair in annoyance as the father slowly turned around and swallowed back the bulge that was stuck deep in his throat while he put his hand up in the air and inclined his head some.

"Pete…please." Jonathan's teary words obviously got to the teen, and he sighed heavily as he fell back down in the seat with a nod. After he did, the man spun back around and jogged into the kitchen, not noticing his wife following him as he rubbed his face jadedly and leaned over the sink with a loud sob that he had to get out of his system. In his whole life, he had never seen anyone hold so much physical pain before in their words and expressions, and now, just taking a glance at his son was too heartbreaking. He couldn't look at him without knowing he had put him in the torture he was in.

He wasn't able to stay alone in the room for long though when he heard a loud yell enter his ears. "Jonathan!" Martha nearly shouted, running into the kitchen soon after he did and stopping as soon as she saw her husband turn his neck over to her that showed her the tears that were just about falling out of his eyes.

"Martha, just leave me alone." Jonathan sternly said even if his voice was feeble and stumbling in weeps. Silence echoed the kitchen after he said that, his head facing the basin once again as the only sound that did fill the room was either the loud sniffs from the father or the squeaking of the wood floor when the mother took a few steps forward.

"Jonathan…Clark needs you right now-you can't keep running from him." Martha told him, seeing him simply stay motionless as she walked up to him some more.

"He's scared. He knows he's dying." She softly reminded him, taking another step forward as he brought his head up and looked up at the ceiling above them while trying to hold back more sobs that he desired to discard. Sighing some, the mother put her arms to her chest and leaned her head to the side while speaking almost unfortunately.

"You know, while you were gone…he kept asking if you were still mad at him." Martha informed her husband, seeing right away his face freeze as he balled his hands into tight fist and soon closed his eyes tightly while inside his mind he was screaming loud swears. He couldn't believe that his son was on his last lines thinking bout if he was still angry with him. It should be the last thought in his conscious instead of his first, and that's what caused more tears to form in the father's eyes as the woman in the kitchen kept speaking, only this time with a question.

"What happened before he was shot Jonathan?" Martha inquired while Jonathan hesitated on answering her query even if he wanted to tell her the truth. All day she had been wondering what had happened in the previous morning, and all the man had told her was that a person had come to the barn and shot their son. She wanted to know what caused him so much guilt though, and why he was regretting the words she didn't know he had said to the boy before the trigger to a gun was pulled. Knowing he couldn't keep it from her any longer, he took a shaky breath and sucked in his lips as he ran his fingers through his now damp hair.

"God…I-…I was an idiot Martha. I don't know what the hell came over me." Jonathan balled his hands into tight fist once more as he turned around to face his wife with a sigh all while he went on with what he had to say.

"Clark needed me. He came to me for answers…for reassuring and….and I just blew up in his face." The father stated, shaking his head and rubbing his temples as he felt a slight headache making its way through his head, causing him to walk over to the kitchen table where he pulled out a chair and sat down in it to put his head in his arms forlornly. He couldn't find the strength to finish right away though, and quietness filled the room until he brought his head up and looked at the wall in front of him blankly.

"The last thing I said to him before he was shot…was that I didn't care." Jonathan felt a strand of water leak out of his eye and glide down his cheek as Martha simply gaped her mouth open a little and stood shocked and sorrowed at what her husband had just said. Luckily, stillness didn't echo the kitchen for that long until he went on.

"Now he's in on that couch slowly leaving us thinking that I hate him." Putting his face in his hands to try to keep his composure, Jonathan clutched his teeth tightly together while a hand was soon placed on his back and he sighed heavily at the person who spoke next.

"Jonathan, I'm sure he isn't thinking that." Martha said, rubbing his back softly while knowing that the guilt trip he was going through had to be distressing. Right away though the man shoot up from the chair and extended his arm out to the left of them, so he could point out into the living room crossly.

"Look at him Martha! You can't look him in the eyes and tell me that he isn't hurt from the things I said." Jonathan told her, not being able to stay calm any longer as he replaced his sadness with anger and stormed away from his wife. Placing his head in his hands again, he trudged back over to the sink and put his elbows on the edge of the contour as he tried to keep himself awake even through the misery he felt.

Martha merely stood still while she stared at him, and it wasn't until at least two minutes later that she shook his head and took a few steps up to him in incense herself. "I don't know what your seeing when you look at him, but when I do I see more fear then any person has ever had. He's afraid Jonathan! He's in pain right now; he knows he's going to die soon if we don't do anything!" She shouted, not meaning to be as loud as she was but not being able to keep herself in check as she felt her own tears well up in her eyes and she watched Jonathan turn around sadly to put his hands up in the air in somewhat of a shrug as he stumbled in sobs.

"I-…" He had to gulp back the lump that stopped him from talking to go on as he shook his head and shrugged dejectedly.

"I don't know what to do Martha." Jonathan finally admitted, however, the relief he wanted to feel not entering his body as a heavier load of worry was placed on his shoulders with the knowing that if he didn't know what to do then there was pretty much no hope for his son to stay alive. Walking back over to the table when his wife didn't respond, he took a seat in a different chair and let out a loud exhale through his clutched teeth before looking up at the red-haired woman to see her also take a seat across from him.

"We need to give Clark time Jonathan. He just woke up a few hours ago, maybe….maybe it's going to take more time then normal for him to heal." She guessed, aware of the fact that she was pulling at straws but having no other choose to do so. Jonathan only sighed heavily at her words however, and she grabbed his hand gently when he did so, making him look her straight in the eyes to see that for once she was doing the consoling instead of him.

"If he doesn't get better by the afternoon, we'll think of a plan together, okay?" Martha asked, leaning her head forward some as he blinked once and thought about what she had said. It wasn't much of a strategy, but the point was it was better then just sitting around and watching their son lay in pain on the sofa.

"By Afternoon?" He repeated, as she nodded her head with a small smile. He slowly did the same as she stroked his hand gently. "Okay…okay." Jonathan whispered to himself as he sat thinking about her preparation. The afternoon was only nine hours away, and compared to the whole seventeen hours they had lingered for the boy to simply wake up, it didn't seem so long to wait.

He just hoped Clark could stay alive by then though.

To be Continued…


	17. Dying amnesty

Thunder rolled from the sky down at the Kent farm as inside the house and in the dark and gloomy living room sat Jonathan, who had his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands tiredly while he swayed himself back and forth in the rocking chair he assembled in. With his eyes wide open but his body still trying to stay awake, the father sighed heavily as he listened to the pure silence that was around him, he and the boy on the sofa in front of him the only people in the room since upstairs were Pete and Martha, who he told to get some sleep.

He couldn't sleep though, no matter how tired he actually was. Every time he thought of slumber he would think of something going wrong with Clark and not being able to be there for him, then the reflection of him dying haunting his mind for minutes-hours even. Time seemed to be slowing down the more he wanted afternoon to come, the clock on the wall telling them now that it was only four in the early morning while outside the firmament was still pitch black and raining viciously.

A full twenty-hours Jonathan had gone without sleeping so far, utter fear, anxiety and guilt the only thing he had been feeling through those hours as he sighed heavily at the thought and started to feel tears of both sadness and so much fatigue fill his eyes. He wanted so badly to go back in time and change everything that had happened, the seconds that went by the more he wanted to do so. With all the time Clark was being unconscious, he had no choice but to think about that even if he knew he wasn't suppose to too.

All he had to do was stand by him for a few more minutes maybe and he wouldn't be on the couch in front of him dying in sheer pain. Maybe if he had done something other then cut him open to get the bullet out he wouldn't be crying out for him to stop hurting him in delusion. All the what ifs and all the chances he passed by were eating up his mind as he sat there, rocking himself back and forth, back and forth, listening to the chair squeak with each push while he stared in front of him almost hypnotically.

The room was murky, the only light that made you not seem like you were blind was the moon that shinned from the window behind the sofa, and the foggy clouds that roamed the sky allowing that to stand out through all the rain and lightening as the whole house was pitch bleak. The silence that roved by gave Jonathan shudders as he gulped back the burning lump in his throat and popped his lips sadly, listening to the echo of the noise fill the area as he leaned forward and looked through the obscurity at his sleeping son.

Even with the darkness the father could clearly see Clark's sick and ailing appearance, his face shinning with a thin layer of sweat and his lips dry and cracked, parted open so he could breathe through his mouth while every time his chest moved his face cringed in pure anguish. It didn't give Jonathan any more hope for him getting better. Instead of healing some like they wanted every minute of every hour, he just got worse. They honestly didn't know how much more ill the boy could get.

Sucking in his lips miserably, Jonathan rested his left hand on the blankets that covered the sofa, slowly moving it up to his son's face as he stroked his cheek softly, gulping once again as he did while his cold hands caressed the warm skin of the boy. He sniffed loudly as he did; tilting his head to the side forlornly while he tried to hold back the tears that desired to fall down his face. Never had he seen Clark so weakened before – so vulnerable. It was a heartrending sight that was just too much to take.

He hated running, and he knew he shouldn't be doing it, but seeing his son that way was too hard, and as quiet as he could the father got up from the rocking chair and stood up straight, able to take a few steps from the couch before he froze instantly when a feeble voice entered his hearing.

"Dad?" Slowly, he turned around and bit his tongue inside his mouth as he watched through the shadows the boy on the divan roll his head over to the left and groan in agony. Jonathan nodded his head and walked back over to the chair where he took a seat once again and gently grabbed the teen's hand from underneath the covers.

"I'm right here Clark." He told him, having to look down to the ground when he saw Clark crack his eyelids open somewhat and with teary eyes look into his. He could see just by his expression how much pain he was going through, and it killed him to see that when he thought about how he was the one who put him through this kind of torture.

Eventually though, Jonathan had no choice but to bring his sight up to look at the boy, and even if neither of them talked, they could simply sit there staring at each other, almost reading each other's minds. The quietness that fell between them was the only sound that they heard until it went too far, and the man knew he had to say something if he was even going to talk to the boy before he fell into another oblivion's sleep.

"How do you feel son?" Jonathan choked out, swallowing back the bulge that refused to leave his throat as Clark closed his heavy eyes and licked his parched lips while he tried to find his voice, taking a while to do so but soon enough being able to force himself to talk.

"It hurts…so much…dad." He whispered, his eyes squeezing tightly when a rush of painful fire shot through his stomach, and he bit his lip to the point where he thought it would crack and bleed as his father's stroking of his hand kept him from letting himself pass out.

"I know Clark, I know." Jonathan didn't even want to speak as he watched his son lay in agony, a loud moan falling out of his mouth as he sunk into the couch and his grip on the man's hand becoming loose. It reminded him that he only had a short time until his son was going to give up and go into sweet unconsciousness, which caused him to gulp again and lean forward some.

"Y-your mother and I are going to give you to the afternoon to heal son, a-and if your not better by then we're going to do something. You just hang in there until then, okay?" He softly told him, hearing him sniff with difficulty and open his eyes yet again as his face crumbled in tears and he tried to control his emotions that were going rowdy with the both physical and mental pain he was dealing with.

"I'm sorry…for being…such a burden…on you dad. I never…meant for you…and mom to lose…the farm." Those few, meager words made Jonathan freeze in the chair he sat in, his lungs cutting off air supply as he sat still-frozen and completely shaken up. He knew he didn't hear Clark just say that. He couldn't have just spoken that. Yet he did, and a strand of water slid down the father's face as he choked back a sob and shook his head despondently and in remorse.

"No Clark, no, please don't say that. I'm the one who's sorry. I-I should have never said those things to you, I swear I didn't mean them." Jonathan said a little too fast, his tears filling his voice as he gulped loudly and blinked back the liquid that was blocking his sight so he could see the teen look at him both confused and wretchedly.

"Why'd…you say them…then?" Clark asked weakly, his eyes closing once more when he lost the strength to keep them open while he listened to the man stammered at first until he found the right words to say.

"I-I don't know son. I was…I was just so upset that you ran away. It was hard without you-I took my anger out on something that you didn't even do." Jonathan informed him, lifting his hand up to his face as he cupped his fingers with his and put it to his mouth all while he felt another tear slide down his cheek.

"I'm so sorry Clark." He whispered as he closed his own eyes and bowed his head down to the ground. Jonathan didn't think that he would have to talk to the boy about all this so soon, and obviously he wasn't prepared, which made him just want to curl up in a ball and cry. It was so hard to not do so too. As the silence boomed in his ears, he waited for some kind of reply to be made from his son-any reply, even if it was a angry one as so many minutes went by they just sat and laid there in stillness. When his voice did speak up, Jonathan was both surprised and somewhat happy.

"You're…not mad…at me…then?" Clark stumbled with difficulty, blinking his eyes in bewilderment as the older Kent looked up at him and shook his head immediately.

"No. Not at all Clark. I didn't mean a thing I said that morning-none of it. I am so sorry." Jonathan then couldn't hold it in anymore, and he broke down crying as he pulled the boy on the sofa into a hug. Even through the pain, Clark sat up and wrapped his arms around his father's back while he leaned his head into his shoulder and strangled out his own sobs.

"I don't…w-want to d-die dad. I don't…w-want to l-leave you." Clark cried, tears falling down his eyes faster then his father as he wept loudly in the man's shirt while he felt fingers run through his brown hair and his back being rubbed tenderly.

"You won't Clark, I promise. I love you too much to let you die." Jonathan swallowed back saliva down his dry throat as he closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breathe to calm himself down. "I love you so much." His words weren't loud enough to be heard clearly, as he held Clark in a close embrace, feeling as if when he let go he wasn't going to be there anymore like when he was lying on the barn floor dead. He was scared to loose the embrace more then anything, thinking that when he drew away he would see a lifeless face looking at him. The boy soon pulled the hug away though, who sniffed loudly and looked into his father's eyes with hitched breaths.

"I-…I think…you d-deserve…t-t-t-o know s-s-something d-dad." Clark stuttered in pain, his teeth chattering together while Jonathan nodded his head and licked his lips while bringing up the blankets that were on the couch closer to the boy's body.

"Calm down first Clark, here, lay down." Gently, he lowered the boy back on the sofa somewhat, his back leaning against the armrest as in coldness, he clutched onto the covers and took deep breathes that made flames burn in his chest. It was a while until he could speak again without either breaking down in sobs or spluttering in anguish, but when he did, his words were clear enough for Jonathan's expression to soon go blank.

"D-dad…I-I did…know M-Morgan…Edge." Gulping loudly, the teen took a deep breath and sniffed back the tears in his eyes as he rolled his head over to the right cushion uncontrollably.

"I…was working…f-for him…in M-Metropolis. W-When…I d-didn't…bring h-him back…the b-blood I-I stole…he m-must've…gotten angry." Clark informed him, seeing by the way his father looked that he was shocked, but less mad than he thought he would be. More shocked then anything. Jonathan stood still and silent for a long time, trying to find the words to say, however, in his mind putting all the pieces together. Everything the man had said when they fought all made sense now. He understood every word that was uttered that morning with that simple confession. Everything all made sense now, even thing he didn't think he needed to know. His thoughts were thankfully interrupted with a voice though, and he looked at his son to see more tears welling up in his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry." The boy whispered as Jonathan shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, this time him having to be the one to find his voice.

"It's okay Clark…it's okay. Just concentrate on getting better, okay?" Jonathan soon said, licking his lips as he brushed away a strand of hair in front of the boy's eyes while he looked straight into his with seriousness and sorrow.

"Can…I ask…you something…dad?" Clark resignedly inquired, rolling his head back over so he could simply open his eyelids and be able to see his father's face that nodded his head for a mere answer.

"What…did you…do to…him?" It was then Jonathan felt his whole body start to go numb as he heard the boy ask that question. For the past twenty hours he had been trying to forget what he had done that morning-the morning he was going to regret for the rest of his life, and yet with those simple words all that trying meant nothing, because everything flashed back into his head. From the moment he gave the old man a punch to when he pulled the trigger on the gun repeated it's self over and over again in his mind, and he knew that he couldn't tell his own son what he had done. He couldn't. How was he suppose to tell someone who was dying that their father had actually killed someone?

Taking a deep breath, he sucked in his lips and sniffed heavily as he closed his eyes miserably. "Clark-" Jonathan tried to speak, but he was cut off instantly by a weak and feeble voice.

"Please…dad. Just tell…me." Clark struggled to keep talking, his voice giving out by the second as he sunk down into the couch and closed his own eyes in tiredness as few seconds later he heard his father's voice enter his ears.

"Something…something I will always regret for the rest of my life son." Jonathan groaned to himself as he put his head in his hands and rubbed his face, which was a good thing because he couldn't see the pure shock that the boy on the sofa had on his face while his eyes shot open in alarm.

"Dad…you didn't…" Clark shakily said. He didn't need the man to answer him though. When he brought up his head to show him his repentant and guilty expression he knew that what he was thinking was true, and he instantaneously shot up from the couch with a exclaim.

"Dad!" Clark shouted when immediately he felt a shout of pain escape his lips as he let his body fall back down on the divan with a groan, his hands grabbing his chest in complete agony while two hands gently grabbed his shoulders and helped him rest back down on the settee.

"Clark-Clark!" Jonathan slowly released the boy so he was fully lying down on his back on the couch, his eyes closed tightly in pain as he silently gasped for air and bit his lower lip to wait for the pain to fade, which in time it soon did. And as he felt himself relax on the sofa, the father stroked his warm forehead tenderly in wretchedness.

"It's nothing you need to worry about Clark; it's my problem, not yours." He told him, watching him roll his head over tiredly on the pillow as he wearily opened his eyes to look at him and part his cracked pink lips open with his face full of confusion.

"Why…did…you…kill him?" The father felt more tears well up in his eyes as he listened to Clark ask him that, his conscious screaming that he should have never told him in the first place and his mind wondering the same question at the same time. All day and night he had been asking himself why he had killed the man, so when he replied, he strived to make himself believe that, that was truly the reason why he had taken a foul man's life away.

"I was angry Clark. I thought you were gone." Jonathan's voice nearly stumbled in tears as he remembered seeing his son lying down on the barn floor inert, and the memory just making him shudder, causing him to snap back to reality and force himself not to think about what had happened that morning. As he did, the teen squinted his eyes in bewilderment at what the man had told him, mostly because it didn't make any sense.

"Was…I?" Clark whispered, gulping loudly afterwards as Jonathan licked his lips and took a deep breathe before sighing and nodding his head.

"When I checked…you didn't have a pulse." With those words being hard enough to say, Jonathan ended the sentence at that, knowing that honestly there was nothing else to tell him since after sobbing in his chest for what seemed like a life time the man who had shot him spoke up, which lead to what he was regretting that very second. It clearly wasn't enough for the boy though, since he was still very baffled.

"How did…I…" Taking a deep inhale and coughing a little when he did, Clark sat up some and swallowed saliva down his dry throat as he and his father looked straight into each other's eyes.

"How did I…come back to life…then dad?" Clark inquired. Like a ton of bricks, Jonathan froze. Never had he thought about that, and with the fact that he had over eighteen hours to reflect on everything that was going on before his son had awoken, it was a more shocking feeling when he heard those words. How did he come back to life? When he felt for the boy's pulse, he found none, which told him he was dead. So how did the teen suddenly start living again?

"I…I honestly don't know son." Jonathan told him, deep down inside knowing that he was actually lying. For some reason, he had a strange hunch to his question. But what he was coming up with was something he didn't even want to think about it, and without hesitation, he pushed it in the back of his mind and gazed over at his son with a sigh.

"Just rest Clark." Jonathan brushed away some more strands of hair from the boy's forehead as he nodded his head some and closed his eyes wearily. While he slowly fell back into slumber though, the father couldn't help but keep thinking about what he had asked, and what he was thinking. And no matter how hard he tried to not accept it, he knew the true reason to how Clark had suddenly come back to life. He just wished it wasn't true…

To be Continued…


	18. Hollow and Empty

Sunday. A day of joy and delight, glee and happiness. Far down in Smallville and at the Kent farm, everyone inside the living room of the house felt the very opposite of that. The weather outside was dismal, rain pouring down from the sky and hammering down on the ground as lightening occasionally made it's way through the atmosphere, and with that came along the rumbling thunder. It wasn't something that would bring you in high sprits in other words. All morning it had been ominous outside, so the three people in the cheerless residence weren't surprised that the supposed to be wonderful day of the week was now murky and depressing. For them, it matched the way they felt.

Walking down the hallway of the distressed feeling home, Pete sighed heavily as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and bowed his tired head to the ground, licking his dry lips while he watched his feet that had nothing but socks on move against the carpet. Twenty-two hours. It had been twenty-two hours now that his life had changed in a way that he was never going to forget. His friend nearly died, and was still dying as he stood there. All those screams he heard one morning ago, all the images of seeing the farm boy cry out in pain still haunted his mind like nothing he had ever been through before. It was all still bothering him with the fact of knowing any second he could listen to someone come and tell him that his comrade was dead.

Everyone in the house felt guilty for what happened, but they all knew they couldn't change what was done. Pete knew that Jonathan was thinking how he could have stopped his son from being shot by doing something or helping him out of the way, and however, for the younger boy, he was thinking guiltily way more complicated.

He came up with the conclusion that if he and his friend never fought three nights ago he would have never probably been in the barn reflecting on how much everyone hated him. He would have never been shot. The boy knew that he shouldn't be thinking like that since what happened clearly happened, but just like everyone else, he was thinking about it no matter how hard he tried.

Sighing, Pete leaned on the wall next to him, pulling his hands out of his jean pockets as he started to chew on his bottom lip and look to the left of him. Since the hallway he was in now was pitch dark, the only light really on in the house was the kitchen that was out of his sight, all he could see was the faint sight of the front door that was a long ways ahead of him. And he could only see that from the illumination of the moon that shinned through the windows of the house.

Knowing that the father and oldest man in the house right now was fast asleep in the living room, the boy blew air through his cheeks and dropped his shoulders as he thought about talking to someone, anyone who was around. The last time Pete did have a conversation with someone in the past day without having to be told to do something was around four in the afternoon of the Saturday that had passed, and it made him start to feel lonely and about to burst with questions. He wanted to know if his friend was going to die. He wanted to do if they were going to do anything to help him stay alive. He wanted to know so many things, but for some reason, was too afraid to ask those queries. Both parents were going through such a hard time he just felt if he started to bug them that they'd feel even worse.

Groaning tiredly, Pete ran his hands down his face in exhaustion as he nearly slid down the wall he leaned against in weariness, wanting to get some sleep so badly yet at the same time afraid to even close his eyes. He knew why he didn't want to go into slumber, so not stressing out his brain anymore, he stood up straight and took a deep breath, which ended up coming out as a long yawn before he began to walk down the hallway and took a shortcut by the staircase into the kitchen.

As soon as he did, he saw a red haired woman sitting down at the table with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands and her eyes locked down on the mug too, the light that filled his eyes almost making him shut them for a second while he took a few steps into the room and gulped loudly. The squeaks on the wooden floor that his feet made caused the lady to snap her head up and see him unlike he wanted however, and she smiled the best she could, also weary herself, at his presence.

"Hi sweetie." Martha greeted, pushing the cup aside as sat up in the chair and watched the teen come walking in some more so he could be a little closer to her.

"Hey Mrs. Kent." Pete strolled over to the table where he pulled out a chair and took a seat down in it, uncontrollably yawning once again as he placed his elbows down on the stand and then his chin in his palms. Silence flowed between the two after that as he sat still, staring at the wall in front of him almost vacantly while the mother took sips of her russet. As a few minutes went by this stayed the same, Pete began to know that if he didn't say what was on his mind, the only discussion he was going to have period was going to be uncomfortable tension or 'how are you?'s and simple replies, and that was obviously the last thing he wanted.

Looking up at the woman, he sighed heavily. "When is Clark going to heal Mrs. Kent?" He merely blurted out, catching Martha off guard when he saw her freeze and slowly place the mug she had in her hands down on the table with a gulp. The mother didn't have a clue how she was suppose to tell the boy in front of her the answer to that question, knowing what he wanted to hear was soon and that everything was going to be okay but seeing that would be a lie, stuck in an oppressive situation.

"Um…" Rubbing the back of her neck tensely, Martha sighed and looked at Pete sadly, as he waited for her answer. "We…we don't know honey." Martha honestly told him, watching him suck in his lips and nod his head as he leaned back into the hard kitchen chair he sat in and cross his arms over his chest.

"Yeah…yeah, okay." Pete replied with despair as he sat motionless once more and forced back the lump in his throat. He knew that if his friend would have healed by now and gotten better he would have, so frankly, that rejoin wasn't much of a surprise to him. So he sat there not caring that stillness was the only thing he heard, fiddling around with his fingers while he listened to Martha take another sip of her coffee. Eventually however, the silence got a little too annoying, and the teenager shot his head up to look at the mother for a second time.

"Am I going to get the chance to say sorry to him?" Pete suddenly asked, gulping loudly as Martha took a second out to think about his question before nodding her head and smiling wearily at him.

"Jonathan told me he did, so I'm sure you and Clark will make up soon Pete." Martha assured him, understanding that the emotional ache he must've been going through had to be hard with the fact that he, just like her husband, didn't have happy last words to a boy who was on his deathbed. What she said didn't make Pete feel any better though. In fact, immediately after she spoke, he let his head fall down on they table and he repeatedly hit his forehead on the wood while she jumped up from her chair a little and grabbed his hand to rub it gently in reassurances.

"Honey, it's okay, it's okay." Martha tried to comfort him when she saw that it was obvious the teen didn't know that his friend and the father had made up, but when he brought his head, instead of getting him to nod, she saw tears glistening in his eyes and sadness written across his face.

"Mrs. Kent, I'm never going to have the guts to say sorry to him. He's just going to die thinking that I've hated him from the day we met." Pete groaned as he allowed his neck to drop once again, and this time he folded his arms over the table so he could burry his head in them with misery. Martha couldn't help but feel sad for the boy when he did this, and as she continued to rub the back of his hand, she leaned her head to the side and leaned forward to him some.

"Pete, sweetie, he doesn't think that. He's probably feeling more sorry then you are right now-he isn't angry." She promised him. He only looked at her in somewhat of disbelief when she said that. He couldn't seem to believe her for some reason with that since she hadn't even had her own conversation with the boy, and yet again, neither had he, so with a sigh, he nodded his head. Trying to think about what he'd say when he would apologize to his friend, he bit his lower lip glanced over at the red haired woman.

"Mr. Kent and him made up?" Pete inquired again, seeing her nod her head with a remorseful smile for him as he groaned heavily. He couldn't see how the father had cleared things up with Clark if he himself couldn't find a way. How was he supposed to go in there and face him, after being a complete jerk, and say sorry? He couldn't find a way at all, and it made him growl to himself and lean his right cheek on the cold table.

As he did, he could see the clock in front of him that hung on the kitchen wall, and it told him that the time was now six in the morning, which meant in four hours it would be exactly a day since his friend was shot and nearly killed. It also meant it would be a day that he had been a coward and chickened out on every time he could fix things up with his friend.

"I guess I have no excuse not to say sorry then, huh?" Pete asked, already knowing the answer he that question for once which made Martha nod her head, and he exhaled loudly, his chest heaving up and down while he stood up from the chair and ran his hands down his drained face with a mutter.

"I hope he isn't angry at me." He said in a way that told the mother in front of him that he prayed she was right, and as he rubbed his temples drowsily, he listened to a soft and caring voice enter his hearing.

"Go and see if he's awake, maybe you can talk to him right now." Martha suggested, gesturing over to the exit of the room, which also led into the living room with her head as Pete looked up at her with a smile, and this time, he nodded his head. As he ambled out of the kitchen though, he froze at the entrance to the other room he was about to walk in, and he looked confusedly at the floor for a second as he listened carefully to the silence that only the mother heard.

"Do you hear that?" Pete questioned, watching Martha stand up from her seat in worry and jog over to where he was as he leaned his neck to the side and blinked a few times while he paid attention to the noise that he was hearing.

"It sounds like…" He trailed off into quietness when he saw the woman next to him eyes go wide and her hand cover her mouth.

"Oh dear God, it's Clark!" Martha exclaimed as she ran into the living room, followed by Pete where she bent down to her knees at the couch and soon saw a bright light fill the living room, which she saw in time the darker colored teen had turned on a lamp. It was a good thing too, because this allowed her to see the sweating and pained expression that the boy on the sofa had, his head rolling back and forth and loud moans escaping his mouth.

"Clark, Clark sweetie it's mom. Wake up Clark, wake honey." Martha practically begged, her voice stumbling in tears when she heard an agonizing cry enter the area, and she bit her lower lip tightly to hold back her sobs while she snapped her back behind her to look at Pete. Immediately, the teen saw what her face said, and he spun around to the side to where the rocking chair he didn't notice before was, and sitting on it was a sleeping father where he shook the man's shoulder ferociously.

"Mr. Kent!" With only one yell Pete was able to snap Jonathan awake, who shot his eyes open in alarm and looked over at the boy confused before seeing his feared appearance, and right away he knew wasn't right. The last time he had been awoken abruptly, it was because something was wrong with his son, so he knew, he just knew, it was what was wrong this time. And he was right. The moment he looked over at the couch he saw his wife on her knees trying her best to get the sick boy awake, and he stood up from the chair and walked towards the couch hastily.

"What's going on Martha?" Jonathan asked, also bending down to his knees as he watched in grief Clark groan and whimper in pure anguish. He couldn't even look at the sight for a second before he lost his breath and had to lock his head over at his wife, who put her hand to her mouth in fear, tears welling up in her eyes when she couldn't get her son to wake up. For some reason she was getting thoughts that he wasn't going to wake up either, and she had to force herself to talk to get those deliberations out of her mind.

"I-I don't know, we were just in the kitchen when we heard him a-and-." Choking out a weep, Martha felt a tear fall down her cheek and drop down to the floor as she cupped her mouth with both of her hands while she felt someone grab her shoulders, and she looked over at her husband to see him looking at her sympathetically.

"It's okay Martha." Jonathan knew that she was panicked, and when it came to Clark, she didn't do well with being panicked, so forcing a small, extremely small though, smile on his face, he watched her nod her head and take a inhale to turn around back over to their son, who was still unconsciously in a state of terror. No one in the room knew why, but they all did know was that it was either he woke up, or he didn't. And they preferred the first one over the second.

Turning over to the couch, the father clutched his teeth tightly as he moved closer where the boy laid, and with more strength then he probably wanted, he grabbed his shoulders and grasped them tightly as gently, he shook him up and down.

"Clark, Clark son, wake up. Wake up Clark!" Jonathan felt himself start to panic when no matter what he did, the boy didn't arose, and he couldn't help but freeze suddenly when he found himself trying to ignore the moans that the teen was giving out. He gulped loudly while to the right of him Pete tilted his head to the side in confusion in anger to his hesitation too, and while he knew why he wasn't doing anything, he was just mad he was letting it get to him. It was obvious what was happening was bringing a memory of when he had to take the bullet out of Clark, so with no choice, the darker colored boy in the room stepped forward.

"Wake up for us man, wake up." Pete whispered, shaking his friend's shoulders for the father until he found himself snapping back into reality, which didn't happen for a few minutes, and when he finally see what was going on, he winced at his space out. Before Jonathan could take over again however, a rapid cough was heard, and immediately Clark shot up from the couch gagging while being winded.

"Oh Clark!" Martha cried out, moving closer to the sofa when Jonathan shook his head, held his hand out, turning his head over to face her so he could swallow saliva down his parched throat, and run his fingers through his dirty blonde hair uncertainly.

"Martha, go in the kitchen and get that bucket for him." He told her, getting a nod from the woman as she stood up from her knees and ran behind her toward the kitchen, leaving the two men in the living room where the father faced his son again and very tenderly took a hold of the boy's shoulders to pacify him.

"Clark, shhhh. Calm down son, calm down." Jonathan spoke in a soft voice, stroking Clark's cheek gently as he smiled benevolently at him to get him to open his eyes and look at him. When he didn't even do that he hoped for at least a sign that he was conscious and not passed out, uncomfortable tension better then the anxiety he was feeling, and it was like a ton of bricks his eyes went wide and he noticed something horrific.

"Breathe Clark!" Jonathan nearly screamed at the top of his lungs, grabbing both sides of the boy's face as the ailing teen shook his head and closed his eyes even more tighter then they already were.

"C-C-C….C-Can-C-Can't." Clark staggered, wheezing in for air and sobbing the best he could when he couldn't even get an inhale of it, and as tears started to flow down his face, Jonathan's mouth dropped open and he shook his head and went into trepidation.

"Oh my god…oh my god, try Clark. Try to take deep breathes now." The father felt like he was going to loose his son right then and there, panic the only thing he felt in his body as he watched Clark bring his head up and if his eyes were open, look up at the ceiling. While he did, Martha came running back into the room with a blue bowl in her hands, and she handed it over to her husband who took it at once and then turned his attention back over to the boy.

"Come on Clark, you have to breathe son!" Jonathan exclaimed loudly, showing his son that if he didn't take a small breath of air soon he was going to die. This got Clark scared, and he pulled his arms from under the blankets that were on top of him so he could clutch his chest and open his mouth to gasp for some kind of expose to his lungs. He only gagged brashly when he tried nonetheless, and he grabbed onto Jonathan's hand and squeezed it tightly while he did.

"D-D-D-Dad." Clark wheezed, cracking his eyelids open and looking straight into his father's eyes to see him do the same when just as he thought he was about to pass out, he felt something rise in his chest, and he throw his head down to the ground immediately where pretty much everyone knew what was going on. Jonathan swiftly threw the bucket under his mouth, and with much difficulty, Clark retched out as much vomit as his stomach needed to get out.

"He's okay; he's going to be okay." Jonathan told both Pete and Martha, knowing the reason to what had just happened as Martha let out a sigh of relief and rubbed Clark's back as he threw up. While she did, and while Jonathan comforted the boy, Pete stood over by the other end of the couch and away from the couple. Still in unnerve from the event that had unfolded, he simply walked backwards towards the wall and he threw his head down in his hands at the thought of how he almost just lost his best friend-again.

--------------

Rain pitter-pattered down on the roof-top of the Kent house as walking upstairs of the residence Jonathan had his hands stuck deep in his jean pockets, his head lowered down to the ground while he sighed heavily and sniffed a little with almost a yawn. It was around six thirty now, a half and hour past from the incident that scared them all for one boy's life as he walked up the staircase wretchedly, and he couldn't help but wonder if that was nothing compared to what fate was going to have in store for them.

The man hated thinking about that though, and as he finished walking up the steps, he took a right turn and saw instantly the bathroom door that was closed shut. It caused him to dropped his shoulders and pop his lips forlornly, and as he walked towards it, he once again couldn't help but remember something that happened in that very place that he was always going to remember. Jonathan was never going to be able to walk around in the house the same way again.

Gently knocking on the door with the back of his fist, his knuckles banging against it lightly, he cracked the door open and saw sitting in the tub with his legs hanging over the edge was Pete, who hand a body sponge in his hands and his eyes locked down on his fingers that was playing around with it.

"Can I come in?" Jonathan asked, causing the boy to snap his head up and roll his eyes before shrugging and going back to fooling around with his fingers and the item in them.

"It's your bathroom." Pete replied, throwing the sponge up in the air and then catching it as he sighed heavily and leaned back into the cold and hard tile he sat on. Ignoring the father who walked into the room too, he licked his lips and folded his arms over to his chest, trying to seem like he didn't want to talk and making the man believe that, but when the farmer spoke, his words made it clear that he wasn't going to leave without a conversation.

"What's wrong Pete?" Jonathan asked, tilting his head to the side as Pete balled his hands into tight fist and clutched his teeth together while he sat up some in the tub and shook his head in anger.

"Clark nearly died again Mr. Kent and yet all we're doing is sitting around and watching him beg for us to stop the pain!" He exclaimed, gulping loudly afterwards when he saw the distressed expression he had put on the man, and he almost winced as he watched him halt for a few moments. It was almost as if hearing those words by someone either then himself or his wife made him comprehend what they actually meant. He was sitting around doing nothing while his son was dying. If any other person heard that they'd be laughing it was so silly.

"Mr. Kent…" Pete tried to get him talking when a minute went by in silence, but all he did was shift positions and gulp loudly. Eventually, he did talk though. "Pete, I know this is hard on you, it's hard on all of us…but we just have to wait and see what happens." Jonathan didn't know why he just said that, but he did, and it caused him to lean against the side of the tub and let his head bang against the wall so he could feel the twinge it brought. He didn't want to wait any more honestly, however, he didn't know what else to do, and as he thought this, the teen held back his growl and looked over at him exasperatedly.

"Do you really think he can wait until the afternoon Mr. Kent?" Pete asked, pouting as the father froze once again and slowly turned his head over to him. He was right. Clark couldn't wait until the afternoon, he didn't even know if he could live the next hour. Jonathan couldn't believe he was taking that risk. Taking a deep breath, he nodded his head and gulped back the lump in his throat.

"We're try to think of something to do sooner then that, but in the mean time I need you to be strong for me Pete." He said, simply seeing the boy lean back into the tub when he replied as he took a deep breath of air and then exhaled it dejectedly when a thick stillness came between them. It was a while before someone talked, no one knowing what to talk about as they sat still in the quiet bathroom that echoed with a painful and throbbing silence. It was Pete who spoke up, and he clicked his tongue inside his mouth while looking over at the dirty-blonde haired man miserably.

"Is it wrong that I'm thinking I could have stopped this?" Pete inquired, his tired eyes full of wonder of if he was being wrong for wondering what it would be like if his friend never got shot, and all the father did was grin he best he could, himself also drained.

"What do you think I've been doing?" Jonathan chuckled lightly as Pete darted his eyebrows up in surprise, never thinking that the man in front of him would be thinking those kind of things. The truth was, he always thought Jonathan was the kind of man that avoided those kind of thoughts. His answer amazed him, but it didn't keep him from groaning and putting his head in his head resignedly.

"God, I just wish I never had that stupid fight with him. Maybe I wouldn't be feeling as crappy as I am now." He mumbled as he slapped his forehead in anger to himself while he looked over at the father again and threw his hands up in the air.

"How the hell did you make up with him Mr. Kent? I can't even get the guts to talk to him." Pete admitted, remembering that the last time he did talk to his friend, which was when he first woke up, he felt guilty enough for the things he had said, and as he asked that question, Jonathan sat still in wonder of how to answer it. He stuttered at first, rubbing his face with his fingers as he tried to find the right thing to say to the boy who was obviously at a crossroads with his feelings, and he looked over at him with a sigh when a few seconds had passed.

"You have to realize what you did…and take reasonability for it. I learned the true meaning of that the hard way…don't follow in my foot steps Pete. Talk to him." Jonathan told him, bowing his head to the ground and turning back over to the front of the bathroom where he put his elbows on his knees and his chin his hands. Pete saw that he was more miserable then he was when he did this too, and he sat up completely in the tub and moved closer to the father when he got on his knees so he could be right behind him, and he tilted his head to the side while leaning it forward.

"Clark's going to be okay, right Mr. Kent?" Pete queried, biting on his lip as the man turned around and smiled gently while he nodded his head. "Clark's going to be okay." Jonathan assured him, watching Pete grin broadly and swing one leg over the edge of the tub, and then the other so he could walk out of the bathroom, and as he did, the father couldn't help but think about how hollow and empty the words he just said were. Hollow and empty.

Just like he felt.

To be Continued…


	19. Just give him some time

Cold and wretched silence echoed through the kitchen of the Kent house as rain lightly tapped down on the rooftop. The morning weather was gloomy and gray, and not near as sunny and bright as it usually was at that time of the day. While not a thing had changed from an hour earlier in the farm house, Jonathan stood by the coffee machine pouring cups of coffee for himself and his wife who was sitting at the table with Pete. The teen had his head rested upon his crossed arms, and the mother simply sat there trying her best not to break down all while the room ricocheted in pure silence.

Ever since Clark's incident a while earlier that left them all panicked and in shock, no one could seem to get themselves to talk. It was too hard to say words while someone in that very house was dying, his life being taken away from them while they sat there in thought of what they could do. The event had obviously woken them up to the fact that the situation was getting incredibly serious.

With a sigh, Jonathan picked up the two black steaming cups of coffee and walked over to the table where he leaned over from behind his wife and gave one to her with a weak smile as she took it graciously. "Here you go honey." He said, standing up straight and then leaning against one of the cabinets with a mug in his hands so he could take a gulp of the one liquid that would keep him awake. As he did, Martha placed her cup down on the table and looked over at the boy next to her, and as she rubbed his arm kindly to get him to look up at her tiredly, she forced a grin on her mouth.

"Are you sure you don't want something to eat Pete?" Martha asked, knowing that he hadn't eaten in the time that he had came here, which was worrying her as he shook his head and yawned loudly before standing up and pushing back his chair to do so, the squeal on the wooden floor making chills run down his back.

"No thanks Mrs. Kent, I think I'm just going to head into the living room for a while." Seeing both her and Jonathan nod at his words, he stuffed his hands into his pockets while he left the kitchen and gulped loudly at the thought of how he had just turned down wonderful food that he had actually been craving for a while now. The thought left his mind as soon as he entered the living room though, and immediately, the first thing that came into his sight was the brown leather sofa that had his sleeping friend on it. It caused him to wince slightly and clutch his teeth together as he found himself moving his feet slower into the room the more his eyes stared at his slumbering body.

Even far away, you could see the boy's pale and sick face that was unconscious, and while he slept on his side, you could still see his chest hitching in pain every time he inhaled for breath. Anyone would feel indignant at the sight, so it wasn't any easier for Pete to get closer to the couch. He eventually made his way over there though, and he gulped loudly while taking a seat in the cushioned rocking chair with a pop of his lips. There he was, right in front of him and yet he seemed like he was a distant away.

Sighing miserably with this thought, Pete leaned back in the chair and put his arms to his chest as he listened to the quietness around him throb in his ears and make him lick his lips and soon enough clear his throat a little and shrug to himself. "Hey man. Um...long time no talk, huh?" Bowing his head to the ground and clapping his hands together nervously, Pete gulped tensely and felt himself taking deep breathes as he started to get angry at himself for not talking to his friend before, and now he was stuck doing it when he wasn't even awake. Shaking his head, he looked up at Clark and inhaled broadly while moving forward to the divan.

"Listen, um, y-you know I uh....I really never knew how to say what I always felt face-to-face with people, and, well, your pretty much face-to-face right now...but um, since your out of it, I'm going to take a chance and practice this whole, um, apologize thing while I can. Maybe when I finally do get the guts to say it to you it won't come out so crappy." Pete told him, pulling on his fingers evidently nervously while he gulped loudly and tapped his feet on the ground. Even in the woods, not going to be able to hear a thing, Pete felt like he had to get every word he was going to say to the teen right, and this caused him to sigh heavily and put his head in his hands and shake it back and forth

"Clark, god...I-I was a complete jerk Friday night. I don't have a clue what came over me. To be honest, I think I was on drugs or something, because those things I said to you...I didn't mean them man. None of it, your my best friend, you always have been. I wouldn't have spent all those times as together as kids if I didn't like you-that'd just be a waste of sandbox time." Compelling out a chuckle for no reason, he dropped his shoulders and looked up at Clark. At least when he was sleeping he was in less pain. At least when he was sleeping he didn't have to deal with the stuff that was going on in his life. Running his hands down his head, Pete blew air through his cheeks and closed his eyes gently, leaning back into the rocking chair and hearing it make a few squeaks while he groaned in regret to everything bad he had done to his sick friend in front of him.

"I'm really sorry. I mean it, I was a total jerk-in fact, just give me an award for the biggest jerk in the whole word!" He exclaimed a little too loud, frustrated with himself obviously as he balled his hands into tight fist and held them behind his neck so he could lower his head back to the floor and hold back the tears that were starting to form in his eyes. What made this whole thing silly was the fact that the boy wasn't even wake; hence everything he was going to say was just going to be pointless. Pete didn't care though. He went on with what he had to say. Maybe he'd feel a little better afterwards and a little less guilt then he was feeling now after he did.

"And you know, you and your dad getting in a bigger blow out the next day probably didn't make what I did any better. I would say if I could go back in time and stop myself from doing what I did I would have...but we all know if I could go back in time, I would have stopped you from getting hurt. Man, you must feel like hell right now. God...you almost died an hour ago. You almost left us for good again." Pete whispered those last words, biting his lip that started to shake as he took a deep breath to regain his composure, and he stood up straight with a shrug and a calm face to wrap up what he had to say, who was still fast asleep on the sofa with his hands clutching onto the blankets wrapped around him.

"I really am sorry Clark. I know I hurt you big time, and there's nothing I can do to take that away." Pete said, sitting motionless and simply staring at his friend when he finished before laughing aloud and shaking his head with a snort.

"Yeah, definitely needs more practice." He mumbled as he put his arms to his chest and rocked himself back and forth in the seat for fun when tedium started to overcome him. Just when it did, he could sense someone walking into the living room, and he turned his head around to see the dirty-blonde haired man come strolling over to him with a weary grin and stop when he saw that he was sitting by the boy on the couch in worry that something was going on.

"Is he awake?" Jonathan asked with a quiet voice, getting Pete to shake his head sadly which only made him smile some and jog over to him, grab the hard chair that was by the end table and take a seat down in it to lean his head forward at the teenager next to him.

"We figured out a plan." The father's words got Pete to jump up and look at him with a beam as he darted his eyebrows up and felt for once hope jumble in his body.

"What are we going to do?" He anxiously inquired, seeing however, the man put his hand up in the air showing that there was some kind of but in whatever he had in mind, and when he talked; he felt that hope he once had slowly fade away.

"It...might...be permanent though Pete. Martha...um, really doesn't agree with it." Jonathan gradually informed him, finding it not so easy to tell the boy this as he tilted his head to the side in query to what he had to say. And as he did that, he sunk down in the seat he was half standing in and sat back in it while listening to his mind telling himself that really nothing was going to change no matter what the farmer was going to say.

"What is it?" Pete questioned, locking his eyes on Jonathan who was looking at the ground when he took a deep inhale and then exhaled to speak.

"If he doesn't start to get a little better by the end of the day…" Gulping loudly, he closed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling with a miserable pit in his stomach.

"I'm going down to see Jor-EL." Immediately looking over at Pete to see his reaction to what he said, he saw him standing still, almost in shock, and in his mind, he screamed loudly. It was all he could come up with though. That man was their only hope to saving their son, and yet everyone thought he wanted to go see him. He didn't, and he wasn't going to unless he had to, and that's what brought up what he had to say next.

"In the mean time we're going to do our best to get him recovered Pete. If he feels better maybe he'll start to heal." Jonathan suggested, snapping the boy out of his stunned world when he spoke this as he froze for a second and then nodded his head very slowly with thought.

"You know, that sounds just crazy enough to be right." Pete told him, suddenly once again feeling like someone had walked into the room, which made him turn his head over again and this time see a red haired woman come sauntering in with a black steaming mug in her hands as she took a seat down on the armrest that was next to the chair her husband sat in. While she smiled wearily at the two, the dark bags under her eyes could be shown, and she took a sip of the coffee in the cup in her palms with a chuckle.

"This is Clark we're talking about." Martha, clearly listened into their conversation, chortled when swiftly she snapped her head over to the sofa when she heard a weak voice enter the living room.

"I...heard that." Clark choked out, his voice hoarse while he forced on a enervated smile, and as he did, the mother looked over at Jonathan with her hand to her mouth and water forming in her eyes and Pete, with too much to think about, got up from the rocking chair and shook his head with a clear of his throat.

"I, uh...I think I'm uh...going upstairs or...somewhere...for…a while." He uttered out and spun around while jogging out of the living room as Martha jumped up from the couch armrest and watched him do so.

"Pete-" She tired to make him stay, but when Jonathan grabbed her arm gently and mouthed the words 'let him think' to her, she took a seat in the chair he was in before and turned her attention over to her now awake son who opened his eyes open to see them with a groan.

"Hey mom." Whimpering in agony as unnoticeably as he could, the farm boy smiled somnolently and gulped saliva down his desiccated throat, which felt like a thousand needles went piercing through his skin when he did, so as he closed his eyes tightly in pain, the mother rubbed his shoulder sympathetically.

"Hi sweetie. How are you feeling?" Martha asked, tilting her head to the side while she tried her best to force back the sobs she longed so badly to cry out. In front of her was the side of her son she thought she would never see in her whole life. He was helpless-vulnerable, for once, the boy she had always thought was going to be invincible forever was on the sofa that her eyes were locked on dying, and it was so hard not to cry. But she did her best not to, just for him, because she knew that he didn't need her to break down. So all she did was sit there rubbing his shoulder as he attempted to clear his gruff throat and open his eyes up again

"Can...I answer...that later?" With a rasping titter, he slowly allowed the grin he had on his lips to fade away, finding it less painful in a strange way not to shove a smirk on his face. As he finally cracked his eyelids open again to blurrily see his two parents standing in front of him, he tried to focus his eyesight while could feel his father grab his hand and stroke it gently when the red-haired woman sat back in the rocking chair.

"Hang in there for us Clark." Jonathan said as he sighed and leaned forward to suck in his lips while he cupped the boy's hands with his. With the somewhat of light from outside letting him be able to see what was going on in the living room, he was able to gape at the ailing Clark, who was staring right back at him with almost begging eyes for him to stop the suffering he was going through. And more then ever did Jonathan want to make what his son was being tormented with just disappear, but he knew that couldn't happen, so with another silent sigh, he watched the teen's expression suddenly change from distressed to crumbled up and in revolt.

"I feel like...I'm going to...throw...up." Clark mumbled, rolling over to his back with much difficulty while he feebly covered his mouth with his hand and propped his head up some on the support of the couch. As he did, Jonathan quickly turned over to Martha and pointed over to the kitchen, and with only a few words, it was understood what she needed to do.

"Martha, go…" Getting her to nod her head and jog out and into the kitchen, the man turned back over to the boy where he let out a deep exhale and moved the chair he was in closer to the sofa so he could start rubbing the back of his hand again as he tried to get his stomach under control. Lowering his head to the ground while the teen did, he dropped his shoulders and inside his mouth, bit his tongue until he thought it was going to crack and bleed just to keep himself from not shedding a tear, something his wife and him were trying to do so the boy didn't have to worry about them for once.

"Don't scare me like that again son." Jonathan attended to whisper those words, but instead, they came aloud and clear enough for Clark to turn his head back over to him and dart an eyebrow up with a gulp to hold back the bile in his throat, and as he did that, he took deep breaths for the nausea in his stomach.

"I'm not going...to puke...on the floor...dad, don't worry." Trying to get at least a small laugh out of his father, Clark smiled softly only to see the man bring his head up and look at him gravely, which caused him to turn serious as while and immediately drop the little humor that being delusion brought him and wonder inside his head what was going on.

"I'm taking about when you wouldn't wake up Clark...and then couldn't breathe. We really thought you were going to die there for a second." Jonathan honestly told him, water glistening in his eyes against his will when he said those words. Grunting some when trying to lift himself up, the teen shrugged somewhat and licked his dry lips when he heard his father's reply, not knowing that he felt that way about what happened less then an hour ago since to him, it wasn't that serious, just painful.

"I'm sorry. I 't...get myself...to get it all...up." Clark felt like an idiot saying that, however, knowing it was the only way to put it, he watched Jonathan nod his head and sniff loudly as he put both his and his own hand to his mouth with wretchedness.

"Just hang in there for me, okay? Promise me you'll do at least that." He solicited him, seeing a smile slip onto his lips while he nodded his head and squeezed back as tight as he could on the grip his father had on his hand.

"Promise." Clark spoke those words just in time, because a few seconds later, Martha came walking back into the room with a blue bucket in her hands, and she placed it down on the end table that was behind Clark's head and then took a seat down in the rocking chair once again. And this brought up a scratchy silence that soon enough made the sick farm boy speak up.

"So why...haven't I...healed yet?" Clark asked both of his parents, hoping to get a direct reply since they had twenty-eight hours to think of why he was still on the couch wounded, and yet they exchanged glances and stammered, which made him think things he never wanted to deliberate until his mother spoke up with a teary voice.

"This might not be something your body can heal instantly from sweetie. It...it might take some time for you to get better." Martha informed him, feeling guiltier then ever telling him this when he looked at her with the eyes of pure melancholy, and as he pulled away from his father's grasp to try to sit up some more on the couch, he looked at them both in question.

"Is...that the plan...then? To wait...for me to...get better?" Clark asked, not knowing if his tone came out in just speculate of that was the plan or if that was the plan and it was a stupid plan if it was. As the parents once again looked at each other, Jonathan sighed heavily and rubbed his face tiredly while he leaned back in the hard chair he sat in.

"Kind of." Looking over at his mother, Clark started to get a little worried when no one talked after that, and he chewed on his upper lip in fear of what was going to happen to him as he asked in a stumbling voice to his mother a question that made her look over at her husband with an angry expression.

"What...is it...then?" Seeing this look, Jonathan gulped loudly and ran his fingers through his hair while he looked up at the ceiling and told himself over and over again in his mind that this shouldn't be harder then telling his son's friend, and yet, it should be at the same time. It was his son who was dying, and he had every right to know what he had in mind of what they were going to do, so with one shoot, he took a deep breath and looked down at the boy with his hands balled up in tight fist.

"If you haven't gotten better by the end of the day...we've decided that I'm going down to see Jor-El, Clark." Jonathan told him, ignoring his wife's snort as she stood up from her chair and walked away from him and behind the sofa in anger.

"You've decided." Martha muttered, clearly not in the whole choice that he made as Jonathan gave her one glance before looking back at his son, who was in less shock then his friend, but still in confusion to his actions, and soon enough, someone in the room spoke up through the stillness that was heard. The only person that appreciated it was the person who spoke however.

"If you are...going to see him, then...I'm coming too." Immediately after hearing Clark's words Jonathan shot up from the chair and growled to himself, running his hands through his hair again only this time in anger as he shook his head at his son.

"Clark, no! I don't want you in this, okay?" Jonathan yelled, honestly wanting to kill himself after he did when he realized he hadn't handled something the way he should have and instead lost his temper again, and that was realizing it on his own, not by looking at the deadly glare his wife gave him. Clark simply laid there for a few seconds when hearing those words though, not because they were shouted in anger, but because of what they said, and he shook his head in disagreement to what he had to say.

"It's kind of...too late dad, look...where I am...now." Clark reminded him, sniffing and gulping loudly as Martha put her arms to her chest, tilted her head to the side, and somehow made her husband look at her livid face. Returning it with a guilty one, he sighed heavily and groaned while he fell down in the rocking chair and put his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth as a few minutes went by that only quietness was heard. And he didn't know how the two in the room handled it, but when it was over; he licked his lips and looked up at his son sadly.

"I only want to have to go down to see him if things get to the point where we can't handle this anymore Clark. And right now, we can. We have a plan, and we're going to work with it. So please...just...don't worry about all of this. All you have to do is try to get better son." Jonathan told him, moving in some and gently taking his son's hand once more, as he held it in both of his and leaned his head forward.

"Can you do that?" Watching Clark slowly nod his head, Jonathan wearily smiled while he closed his tired eyes and gradually nodded his own head, leaning back into the rocking chair as a good peace over washed the room. And the father would have fallen asleep too if it wasn't for the boy talking once again, his voice almost not even hearable with the fact that he was almost falling back into slumber also.

"Wasn't...Pete here...before?" Clark suddenly asked, his question causing Martha to scamper over back to where she was as she nodded her head and gestured her hand to Jonathan to try to get him to talk since she couldn't find the right thing to say. They both knew that Pete's story for being at the house was a lie, so as she quickly sat down in the hard chair her husband use to be in, the mother continued to nod her head.

"Um, he still is. He went upstairs for a while." Martha informed him, getting him to nod his head with an 'oh' as he let his eyes close once again, and in too much guilt, she sighed and looked over at Jonathan with a worried expression.

"Honey, you two really should-" As soon as she looked back over at her son however, she saw him fast asleep, and she almost rolled her eyes when she could tell what he was doing was a typical way to get out of talking about something he didn't want to talk about. But both she and Jonathan knew that they couldn't do anything about that, because doing something about that would be parental and right now being parental would be wrong. All they could do right now was sit around and be supportive and comforting for Clark. It was all they could do. And that's what made the situation so frustrating.

To be Continued…


	20. A secret plan

A vacant stillness was the only thing heard in the living room of the Kent house as Jonathan sat rocking himself back and forth quietly in the chair he sat in, his hands in his lap and his eyes locked on the sleeping boy that was slumbering on the sofa in front of him. While he did, the room he was in simply echoed in silence. It was the only thing that his ears heard, and he didn't even bother to wonder if that was because he wanted to make that happen or if that was because it was the only sound the area had going on. He just sat there immobile like he had been doing for the past hour.

The father couldn't help but sigh as he bowed his head to the floor some and leaned back into the seat he sat in, licking his cracked and dry lips while he blinked impassively and sniffed expressionlessly. "Hang in there Clark…hang in there son." He whispered those words almost uncontrollably, doing it so many times in the past twenty-eight hours that they felt so empty now he needed to find another way to reassure his son, other wise, he wasn't going to live. He needed reassuring. He needed his family to be there for him. He needed so much that the man couldn't give, and it left him sitting there, rocking himself back and forth vacantly with an unfocused mind to the world around him.

So much was going on lately that he was too busy thinking about what he was going to do, if his son was going to stay alive, if the next hour was going to mean a death in his family that Jonathan couldn't concentrate on what was in front of him, no mater what it was. He merely swayed himself in the rocking chair and allowed the tranquility that roamed around to throb in his ears. He was too taken in his thoughts that he honestly didn't see the fact that the room wasn't full of quietness, and that the boy on the couch wasn't slumbering peacefully though too…

_-------------- _

_There was silence. Pure silence. Panicked, fearfully, silence. It made him want to break down and cry--run away from the place he was in now. The room he was in now. The familiar scene that he didn't want to be in now._

"_Dad! Come back, please!" Clark watched his father walk away from him like he didn't hear a word he said as he snapped his head over to the right of him but stood still like a force was keeping him immobile and glued the ground. Jonathan continued to walk out of the barn however, ignoring his plea. _

"_Dad, please, you have to save me! Dad, come back!" Shouting this at the top of his lungs, Clark cried heavily and balled his hands into tight fists that were down by his sides while he closed his eyes firmly in terror. _

"_Dad, I'm sorry, just come back, please! You have to save me!" Biting on his lower lip tightly and giving up when he saw his father simply continue to walk away, he took a deep breath and then let out one more sob to be prepared for what was going to happen. He knew what was going to happen, and with a shaky inhale, he braced himself for it, for it all. _

_It never came though. Minutes went by he stood there with his eyes closed tightly, and this made him wonder if things were going to be different this time. Feeling a small smile fall onto his lips, he peeked his eyes open only to jump back in surprise to see non other then a white haired man wearing thin clear glasses and a vice grin standing face-to-face in front of him._

"_Where's my blood?" Morgan asked as a loud gun shot ricocheted the loft, and with a gasp, Clark looked down shakily to see a silver gun pressed hard to his stomach. As he stumbled back and then fell on his back to the floor, Edge laughed and tossed the pistol to the side while he walked up to the fallen boy and grabbed him by the neck with a malevolent chuckle. _

"_There's my blood." He sung as he threw him aside before bending down to the ground and grabbing his gun once again to aim it at the teen, who went wide-eyed and tried his best to get away while he did this, nonetheless his attempts were useless as the man fired off four shots straight at him. _

_The impact slamming him fully into the ground, Clark could feel himself diminishing into the darkness that his mind desired to sink into while he could hear quietude plummet back into his hearing. It caused him to feebly roll his head over to the right of him and gulp back the blood that was raising in his throat as he watched his father resume walking away from him. "Dad…help me." With that said, he closed his eyes and allowed his body to go limp, falling into the world of the deceased._

_-------------- _

"_Kal-El…it is time." Clark woke up suddenly lying down in a black room, everything around him being so dark he couldn't see a thing as he squinted his eyes to get use to the obscurity around him. Slowly he stood up from laying down on his side, having to balance himself with his hand at first to steady himself on the ground and keep himself from falling back down as he listened to the echoes of a voice fill his ears. _

"_Kal-El…it is time." He knew who the person speaking was, but his mind was so foggy and unclear, he couldn't think, he couldn't call out to who it was. All he could do was stand there; taking deep breathes listening to their deep voice echo the span around him._

"_My son…it is time." It hit him like a ton of bricks then what was going on, and with a gulp and a shake of his head, he looked up at the nothingness above him with anger._

"_Leave me alone Jor-El!" Clark shouted, spinning around and making an effort to run away but stumbling when he did and falling face first to the ground below him with a thud, and pain shot through his whole body as he hit the floor._

"_My son…death awaits you." Turning over to his back when he heard this,, Clark's eyes went wide and he shook his head even more as he backed away like the man was actually in front of him while in fear, he yelled back._

"_No…no, I'm not going to die. I'm not dying; I don't care what you say!" Getting up on his knees and then on his feet, he ignored the fact that he was about to collapse back to the ground and ran as fast as he could into the darkness that was around him until he looked behind him and ended up tripping over something that landed him back face first on the ground. _

_As this time a pain that his body couldn't accept went surging through every inch of him, he groaned in sobs while he listened to the echo of Jor-El's words fill his ears. "Death awaits you my son. Death awaits you." He said this over and over again, and each time he did, he moaned even louder until his grunts got to the point where they became screams._

"_Stop it! Stop it!""_

--------------

"Stop it! Stop it, stop it!" Clark shot up from the couch with sweat pouring down from his face as he threw his neck forward and the blankets on his body onto the floor all while screaming these words that got Jonathan to jump off the rocking chair in alarm.

"Stop it! I'm not dying! I'm not going to die! Stop it!" Clark continued to roar at the top of his lungs as his father quickly snapped awake and grabbed his shoulders to shake them back and forth with strength when his son just got louder.

"Clark-Clark, calm down! It was a dream Clark-son, wake up Clark! Wake up damn it!" Jonathan saw what was going on, and while through the corner of his eye saw Martha come rushing into the living room in panic of what was going on, he let go of the boy's shoulders and then took a hold of his cheeks tightly.

"I'm not dying! I'm not dying, stop it!" Clark sobbed heavily whilst he yelled this, and with a swift exchange to his wife, Jonathan gulped loudly and cursed under his breathe as he tried to figure out a way to awaken the teen.

"Wake up son!" Jonathan yelled once again while he held onto Clark's face firmly as behind him, he could hear the sound of someone come running down the stairs, and he could see soon enough Pete jumping over the banister and looking at the two adults in the room in worry of what was happening.

"What's going on!?" He asked over the loud screams Clark was giving out, and he looked over at Martha when the father wouldn't give him an answer to see her gesture for him to come over to her with her hand. While he did, Jonathan got onto the couch by sitting on the edge of it on his knees and looked his son straight in the face that he held tightly.

"Calm down son, wake up! Wake up already!" After yelling this louder then the boy was screaming his words, Jonathan watched Clark snap his eyes open and stare straight into his, and the room went utterly silent for at least five seconds before the boy broke down completely in his father's chest with loud cries.

Wrapping his arms around his back immediately, Jonathan simply allowed him to do so, and while he stared over at the two people in the far corner of the living room, he bowed his head to the sofa and sighed heavily with sorrow. "Oh Clark…oh boy." He nearly mumbled those words while running his fingers through Clark's hair as he cried heavily, and that's how the scene stayed as he kept his head lowered down to the ground.

--------------

For once something other than silence filled the yellow farm house as early morning time arouse for the four people in the residence, and as two teenagers sat in the living room, one on the couch with his back bending over and his head nearly in his lap, two adults were in the kitchen fighting with each other.

"No Jonathan, you're pressuring him! You're telling him if he doesn't get better soon your going down to see Jor-El, that's what you're doing, and that's what caused what just happened!" Martha yelled, pointing her finger at him as she stood walking away from her husband in anger while he sat in a kitchen chair at the wooden table with his head in his hands guiltily.

"You don't know that Martha." Jonathan told her as she shook her head back at him and threw her finger over to the living room.

"Then why was he screaming the things he was Jonathan? You cannot say that he wasn't having a nightmare about Jor-El from those screams!" The mother couldn't have been more angrier then she was at that moment as she bellowed at her husband, and as she did, he pushed back the chair he sat in to stand up and tilt his head to the side and speak up in fury himself.

"Clark has every right to know what we're going to do Martha, no matter what the plan is! I don't care if it's dumping him in a river; he has a right to know!" Jonathan's voice was less loud as hers as he yelled while she once again shook her head in disagreement.

"But you shouldn't have told him in the condition he's in!" Martha augured, which got at her husband's nerves when he rubbed his tired face and walked up to her in exasperation and he threw his hands up in the air while darting his eyebrows up in question.

"What was I suppose to do then, lie right to his face as he dies?" Jonathan this time yelled back however, didn't matter since his voice was interrupted the second it finished.

"Well which would you rather have, lying to him and have him calm and composed or in that living room right now having a break down!?" Martha shouted with a hoarse throat as she flung her arm over to the right of her into the living room once more to show where their son was as Jonathan growled to himself and walked back over to the kitchen chair was where he sat back down in it to rub his tired face.

"I'm not going to lie to my son as he's on his death bed Martha." He said while Martha wrangled back, and as they bickered, in the living room and trying to block out the noise was the two teenagers, one as said sitting on the couch and the other on the rocking chair.

With a blue bucket in his lap, Clark bent all the way over in his lap with his head in the pail as he vomited heavily, and as he did, Pete rubbed his back gently while he kept his eyes locked behind him at the kitchen and the fighting parents. He tried to focus on his friend to comfort him as he retched, but the moment the couple started talking about things that got him worried like the boy's condition, he just couldn't go back to not listening.

And as he did this, the sick teen heaved roughly with a couch one last time before he fell back into the couch and gasped for breathes like he hadn't inhaled in days while he rolled his sweating head over to his right side and squinted his eyes bewilderedly.

"What…are they…yelling…about?" Clark breathed, gulping what saliva he had down his throat as Pete snapped his head over to his friend and shook it wretchedly at his query.

"Nothing man, don't worry about it." He told him while patting him on the shoulder and then grabbing the bucket from him so he could swing it over on the end table that was next to him and turn back over to his comrade with a forced smile to see him sink down into the sofa with a groan.

As Clark did, he clutched onto the blankets that were somewhat wrapped around him, his shaking body longing for warmth as he leaned his head into the soft pillows behind his head and let out one more painful moan. Doing this got Pete worried, and he moved forward to brush away some of the brown strands of hair on his friend's brow to feel his forehead with the back of his hand and then his cheeks in concern until a weak and frail chuckle was heard.

"What?" Pete asked a little too defensively, leaning back into the chair as Clark kept his eyes closed but slipped a smile on his face.

"You're acting like my mom." Hearing these words, Pete stood still for a few moments before shooting up from the rocking chair and rolling his eyes at his friend's sarcasm, walking away and about to go upstairs if it wasn't for the fact that he stopped half way there and turned around with his lips sucked in fearfully.

"You have a fever." He informed him as Clark opened his tired eyes and looked at him wearily with another delusional sarcastic remark.

"Yeah, I think…that's why I've been…throwing up Pete." Ignoring it and turning his head over to the kitchen entrance; the darker colored teenager bit his lower lip in panic and felt himself balling his hands into tight fist as he called out to the two parents in the house.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kent." Pete waited for them to come, but when he heard them simply continue to fight, he rolled his eyes in pure frustration and stormed into the room they were in mumbling 'oh come on' with aggravation.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kent!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, getting both Martha and Jonathan to snap their heads over to him as Jonathan looked at him in worry as however, Martha in a little bit of annoyance.

"What is it?" Jonathan asked in concern as Pete pointed out into the living room with a gulp.

"I think he has a fever." Getting them both to swap worried glances before jogging out, Pete walked back into the room where he watched the father and mother run over to their son that was now half conscious and fall to their knees in apprehension. As the mother pressed the back of her had to the boy's forehead, she looked behind her at her husband and the teen.

"Pete's right. Jonathan, can you go into the bathroom and get the thermometer?" Martha turned over to her husband to see him nod his head.

"Yeah." Jonathan simply replied while he jogged out of the living room and away from the three, leaving the red-haired woman to go back to comforting her son who now had his eyes shut tightly in pain. Grabbing his hand gently and stroking it tenderly, she tilted her head to the side while moving closer to the sofa and sniffing some at the sight in front of her.

"How do you feel sweetie?" Martha inquired as Clark's face crumbled up in agony and he pushed his hand against the couch to sit up all the way once more in sickness.

"I think I'm going to throw up again." He choked out, which got Pete to rapidly grab the bucket that was on the end table and hand it back over to Clark, who took it and strangled out raucous and painful coughs. Trying to hold back her tears while he did this, Martha rubbed his back softly before Jonathan came walking back into the room, and he sighed sadly as he saw this sight while giving the thermometer to his wife and then turning over to his son's friend.

"Pete, you know where the cups are in the kitchen, right?" The father asked as Pete nodded his head while stuffing his hands in his jean pockets.

"Um, okay, go ahead and fill a small one up with cold water for me and bring it back in here." Jonathan told him as he obeyed him and walked out of the living room and into the kitchen.

When he did, the older farmer in the room turned back over to the sofa and gently took the thermometer from his wife to place it in his son's mouth. After that, he then took away the bucket that was in his lap to put it back on the end table next to him when he saw that his son was done heaving. As Clark started to groan in pain less then two seconds the stick was put in his mouth however, it left the father no choice but to lightly grasp his shoulders and allow him to lie down in the couch with leisure as he bent down to his knees like the mother next to him was doing herself.

"Shhh, it's going to be okay Clark. It's going to be okay." Jonathan whispered as he brushed away a few strands of hair from his face in console. Silence echoed through the living room after that, the only sound heard was the teen's teeth hitting against the cold metal in his mouth as soon enough the other young adult came walking back in with a clear glass in his hands, and he handed it over to the father who spun around when he came back into the area.

"Here you go Mr. Kent." Pete handed it out to him as he took it gratefully and smiled wearily while he placed it down on the end table that also had the blue bucket sitting down on the wood.

"Thanks." Jonathan almost whispered as suddenly, a faint beeping sound as heard, and he snapped his head over to the couch where he took the thermometer out of his son's mouth and placed it to his eyes to only feel them go wide with utter shock. The two other people in the room waited to know why this happened too, however, all he did was simply lean his elbow on the armrest of the sofa next to him and groan heavily as he rubbed his face tiredly and despondently, and it was at least two minutes before he spoke up.

"Well, we know what's keeping him sick." Jonathan mumbled while handing it over to his wife, who at first was confused but then covered her mouth with her hand and gasped.

"Oh my god." Martha couldn't help but choke up at the thought of how much pain her son had to be going through with just how high his fever was, and shakily, she got up off her knees and pointed over to the kitchen with melancholy.

"I-I'll go get a warm washcloth to try and bring it down some." She implied, getting him to nod his head and look behind him at her while she did.

"Good idea honey." Jonathan told her as he sighed heavily and felt himself dropping his head to the floor in despair after she left the room though. He couldn't help but ask himself how anyone was suppose to try to get better with how much worse they were getting by the moment. There was no way his son was going to heal, not on his own anyway. There just wasn't.

Suddenly hearing the sound of someone speak up, he brought his head up to look at teen that was standing up by the couch to see him with his head tilted to the side looking at his friend on the sofa. "Hey Mr. Kent?" Wincing some, Pete looked over at the father as he pointed down to the unconscious farm boy that had his hand resting on his stomach and his other hanging over the end of the divan.

"I don't think he's with us anymore." Saying this got Jonathan to close his eyes for a few seconds with a deep exhale before moving closer to the couch and sucking in his lips to hold back his tears as he stroked Clark's warm cheek with gloom.

"Oh son." He whispered as the second he did, Martha came back into the room, and she saw this scene so just like her husband slowed her down but she eventually made her way back over to the sofa where she bent down and placed the tepid cloth on the boy's forehead and then backed away with a gulp. The older man in the room licked his lips and cleared his throat as his wife did as he ran his fingers through his hair and put his arms to his chest too.

"Um, n-next time he wakes up, i-if any of you two are around him, try to get him to drink some water. H-he's got to be dehydrated." Jonathan stumbled some as he then ran his hands down his tired and exhausted face while behind him, Martha also put her arms to her chest but for her with ire, and she shook her head in anger and annoyance to him.

"You're not seeing Jor-El." These sudden words got Jonathan to immediately shoot up from sitting down on his knees, and in frustration, he spun around to snap back at her.

"Martha!" Knowing that fighting in front of both of the teenagers in the room, even if one of them wasn't conscious, wasn't going to make things better, the father tried to stop the dispute before it got to far, but however his wife had different plans as she shook her head and took a step forward.

"No, Jonathan, I don't care what else you do but you are not seeing that man again!" Martha yelled, which caused Jonathan to let out a long sigh through his clutched teeth while he looked up at the ceiling, and in his head, counted to ten before replying.

"Are son is dying right now Martha. That man is our only choice." He informed her, his words coming out slowly since it was obvious he didn't want to admit that fact himself. Martha felt tears well up in her eyes as she continued to shake her head though.

"No he isn't, we have many choices to keep Clark alive Jonathan, we just have to think!" Shouting this with a voice that stumbled in tears, Martha moved forward and grabbed her husbands hand when he didn't retort back, and she cupped it with hers to hold it to her face as she stood chest to chest with him and gulped back the lump in her throat sadly.

"Please Jonathan…don't see him. You don't know what he's going to do to you, or to Clark. He's the one that drove him away to Metropolis in the first place." Reminding him of that, the mother could feel a strand of water drop down from her eyes while she spoke those words all while her husband pulled away from her grip and balled his hands into tight fist in frustration.

"Martha, that's the point! He has some kind of plan for Clark-he's not going to let him die like this." Jonathan tried to tell her but she moved forward once again and put her hands on his chest in wretchedness.

"Don't see him. Please." Martha listened to silence echo the living room after she said those words, both her and Pete, who was sitting on the armrest of the couch, staring at him waiting for him to reply and Jonathan simply stared into her begging eyes that were glistening with water before uncontrollably caving.

"Fine." Shrugging with a sigh, he fell down in the rocking chair as he put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands while he closed his eyes miserably. "I won't see Jor-El." Jonathan told them as Martha let out an exhale of relief and walked over to him to wrap her arms around his shoulders and whisper two words in his ears that honestly he ignored with no difficulty.

"Thank you." While Martha said this, Jonathan sat back in the chair and shook his head somewhat in resentment, as he knew that he was going to regret making that promise. He knew that he was right, Jor-El was the only man that could save their son, and yet he had just told his wife he wouldn't see him no matter what. On the other hand though, he still had a good feeling that he was the one doing this to his son in the first place. But that was the point. That was the plan.

That was his plan anyway.

To be Continued…


	21. A puzzled teen and a putrid body

Official Sunday morning emerged the skies of Smallville whilst outside the weather still looked overcastted and dismal, the time now made it so most of the small town was awake and ready to get started on a new day. Down at the Kent farm, Martha and Jonathan had been on a new day for the past thirty hours as they walked around their house keeping themselves busy though as the domicile echoed in silence.

That quietness that had been going on for a while was interrupted when a teenage boy came walking down the staircase of the home, and forcing a weary smile on her face, the mother tilted her head to the side as she saw him.

"Morning." Martha greeted, trying her best to hold back her sigh as Pete squinted her eyes to wake himself up from the doze he had just taken and brought his wrist to his face to roll his eyes with a dart of his eyebrows.

"It's been morning for the past nine hours." He informed her while finishing walking down the stairs, and as he did, he could see the man also in the room walk over by the window behind the couch and pull the curtains open to show a little sunshine that gave the area light other then the lamps that were lit on the end tables.

"Hey, the sun's come out some." Pete pointed out, and the father simply walked past him with a shake of a head when he said these words in despair.

"Hardly." Jonathan walked into the kitchen and left Pete to turn his head behind him to watch him do so before glancing over at the couch and then see his slumbering friend on it, which caused him to point at him and then turn over to the mother in question.

"Has Clark gotten any better?" Pete asked in the little hope that while he was asleep something good would've happened, but when he saw the sad expression the woman gave him, he knew that he didn't even need the reply that she gave him to know things hadn't differed a bit.

"No, he's just been resting ever since that nightmare." Martha told him, and nodding his head disappointedly, Pete sighed heavily and walked over to the comfortable rocking chair that was next to the sofa to take a seat in it and put his chin in his hands and gaze at the sleeping farm boy in front of him. It was almost sickening how white his face was, and it made him glum at the thought of how much he merely wanted to see him grin his Kent Charm smile again.

His thoughts were cut off though when a hand was placed on his shoulder, and he looked behind him to see Martha looking at him sympathetically. "How are you doing sweetie?" She inquired, rubbing his shoulder while feeling him shrug and turn back over to the couch.

"Worried." Pete answered her question with that one word, and he could see through the corner of his eyes Martha nod her head while she continued to rub his back gently. In time, he slipped a small smirk on his face when he spoke up again though.

"And hungry." Hearing this got the red-haired woman to shake her head and while she took her hand off her shoulder, she pointed over to the kitchen to the left of them in stubbornness as even as she did, the boy kept a weary, guilty grin on his lips.

"That's it, I'm fixing you something." Martha insisted, knowing that the past day she had offered to feed the boy in front of her however, every time she tried to get him to eat a meal or even a tiny snack he declined it. At first she thought it was because he was still trying to get over what he had recently saw happen to his best friend, now she knew he was just being stubborn and didn't want her going through the trouble.

Making it so she went into the kitchen before he could even say a word, Martha could see through the corner of her eye Pete sigh and stand up from the rocking chair as he followed her into the room himself.

"Mrs. Kent, it's all right, really." Pete jogged into the cooking area and chuckled as he saw the mother digging through the cupboards, and turning around, she gave him and angry glare, which immediately shot his spine up and made him put his hands up in the air in defense.

"I'll just grab a bowl of cereal, okay Mrs. Kent? You're way too tired to cook anyway." He reminded her, and giving in with a loud exhale, she nodded her head wearily and grabbed a bowl on the drain board that was next to the sink and handed it over to him all while she leaned against the cabinet next to him. He was right too; she was way too tired to cook- to do anything at the moment. She hadn't slept in the past thirty hours.

Licking her dry lips and nearly slumping down the wood behind her, she closed her eyes and let her shoulders drop when suddenly; the sound of someone else walking into the room entered her ears and caused her to look over at the entrance to the area to see her husband swinging on his brown coat tiredly.

"Where are you going?" Martha asked this almost a little too demandingly, but after what happened the last time her husband had left the house without telling them, she was not taking any chances with him leaving again. Looking over at her, Jonathan sighed.

"The cows need a quick feeding; the rain probably washed out what….Clark gave them Friday." Choking out his son's name in that kind of sentence, Jonathan buttoned up his coat as Martha nodded her head after swallowing saliva down her dry throat while watching the man walk away from them. As he opened the door leading outside and left the house, she put her arms to her chest and turned over to the dark colored teen in the room, who was over pouring himself a bowl of cereal at the kitchen sink and tilted her head to the side with a weary smile when she saw his miserable expression.

"Are you sure you're okay sweetie?" Martha knew she was bugging him beyond annoyance when she questioned him for a second time in the past five minutes, but she knew something was bothering him-literally, and the fact that he wouldn't talk about it made her worry about him. Finishing pouring the food out of the carton box, he turned around over to her and walked over to the fridge with a deep exhale and a tired smile on his face.

"You'd make a great psychiatrist Mrs. Kent." Pete sarcastically said with a tiny chuckle falling out of his lips, and while he swung the door to the fridge open and grabbed the jug of milk that was on a shelf, he could hear footsteps come closer to him while he kept his locked on the things in front of him. Soon however the woman in the room rubbed his back reassuringly even as he poured the milk in the bowl that had cereal in it with a drop of his shoulders.

"If you haven't noticed, what's going on right now really isn't something someone as young as you can handle Pete. I'm just worried about you, so is Jonathan." Martha informed him, and stopping when he heard this, the teen pushed the milk bottle aside with a loud sigh and lowered his head to the ground. She was right, he shouldn't even be helping the two adults at the moment, he should be at home pretending everything was okay and nothing had happened, like his friend wasn't hurt and he wasn't on his deathbed that very moment. He knew he was taking her words the wrong way too, but he couldn't help it, he knew she was right.

"Yeah…half of this isn't the whole gruesomeness though." When Pete told the mother this, he only saw sadness in her eyes, which immediately got him to pick up the bowl and grab a spoon that was nearby to walk over to the kitchen table across from them both. He wasn't going to stand around to see the sorrow and anguish he could simply see by talking to his friend, and the moment he thought this, he nearly laughed aloud when that very subject was brought up by Martha walking over to him sadly.

"Honey, you and Clark will work things out eventually." She tried to tell him this, but he rolled his eyes and stuck the sliver spoon in his mouth to then nod his head and look over at her once again being sarcastic with anger in his voice.

"Yeah, once he's dead. What are we going to do Mrs. Kent? It's going to be twelve in four hours; it's obvious that he's not going to heal." Pete was able to gulp back the lump in his throat when he swallowed the Coca-Coca puffs that he had stuck in his mouth, and while he did, Martha nodded her head with a sigh at these words, knowing they were all too true while she pulled out a chair at the table and sat down next to the boy.

"I know Pete…I know. Right now all we can do is…wait though." Martha wretchedly enlightened Pete as when she saw the look on his face she felt like a thousand bricks had just fallen on her. She truly hated telling the teen bad news, especially when it was about his best friend's life being at stake. It was so heartrending she had to look down at the table for a second and take control of her tears while as she did that, he rolled his eyes and took another bite of the cereal.

"Joy, more waiting. You know-" Suddenly being interrupted by the sound of a door being thrown open, both Pete and Martha snapped their heads over to the living room where they saw Jonathan come jogging back in. Darting her eyebrows down confused after looking over at the clock on the wall, which told her only four minutes had passed since the man left the house when he did too, the mother looked at her husband bewilderedly.

"That was quick." Martha's words got a derisive smirk out of Pete, who shoved a few more mouthfuls of food in his mouth, obviously hungrier then he thought he was while the dirty-blonde haired farmer nodded his head almost indistinctively as he entered the room. He leaned against the wooden post to the kitchen entrance next to him when his wife said that as he closed his eyes and tiredly put two fingers to his forehead in distress

"I just remembered something." He spoke this with a heavy sigh, and licking his lips, Jonathan walked over to the table where he opened his sight to see Pete eating breakfast cereal, and ignoring that, he stared directly at the mother with graveness while he put his hands down on the table.

"Martha, we have a dead body in our barn." Jonathan whispered as he could feel himself getting nauseas just saying those words. They had a dead body in their barn, at their house, by their residence. It was almost inhuman to say something like that, and covering her mouth with both of her hands and then running them up her face, Martha groaned loudly and put her elbows on the table while Pete on the other hand felt his eyes go wide and he immediately pushed back the bowl in front of him.

"And to think I was actually going to finish that." The teenager said sarcastically, but his remark was unheard when the woman sitting next to him spoke up after bringing her head up and looking at her husband with an exhale herself.

"What are we going to do Jonathan?" Martha asked with a crackling voice of this time not tears, but fear. And she could not help but glance over at Pete when she inquired this to her husband when she realized that this was something else that was going to be dumped on top of them, and him. She couldn't take in the time to think about the depressed teen for long however when a voice was heard and caused her to turn her head back over in front of her.

"I don't know…-but we can't just leave it there. Who knows who's going to come by and see it." Jonathan told her while the sound of a chair squealing across the wooden floor was heard, and standing up from his seat, Pete walked over to the sink behind him with the bowl of cereal he was eating before in his hands and the second he was there, dumped it down the basin with a sad sigh.

"Good bye breakfast, I knew you well." Letting the dish fall in the sink, he turned around to lean against the cabinets, place his arms to his chest, and watch Martha stand up from her chair herself so now, no one in the room was sitting, and everyone was full of worry and fear.

"Jonathan, don't worry, you can't automatically be accused for murder." Martha felt like she was reassuring herself this when she informed him that, but shaking his head, the man threw his hands up in the air at her words.

"Do you not remember the last time I was Martha?" Jonathan reminded her, honestly not wanting to have to say that since his trailed his mind into many memories that lead him into a desolation of sadness, and luckily, the darker colored boy over by the sink spoke up before he could this time, which made him happier then ever.

"Yeah, Mrs. Kent, there's many ways he can be accused for killing this guy. I mean, for one, his finger prints are all over Edge's body from the fight." Pete indicated as he sucked in his lips. When he did, both parents snapped their heads over to him and darted their eyebrows down in confusion to how he even knew this information, and when they did, he shifted uncomfortably and shrugged before walking over to the table again.

"What? I watch CSI." In the past two days, Pete couldn't help but feel like his mother was right-he did watch too much TV. Sitting down in the chair he was in before, he leaned back in it and listened to Martha sigh however, ignoring his thoughts with what was going on and paying attention to what she had to say next, which happened after she tugged somewhat at her hair in stress.

"We can't worry about this right now Jonathan. We need to concentrate on getting Clark better." She told him, which he nodded his head to right away as he stuffed his hands in his blue jean pockets and heaved his shoulders up and down while listening to his wife speak not a few seconds after she said that.

"Just…cover the body up for now or something." Martha kept it at that, knowing that if she said anything else she'd feel like she was about to throw up at the thought of having a dead man in their own barn. Looking up at her, he froze for a second until nodding his head once again, knowing he could force himself to do that if he tried.

"Okay…okay, I'll go do that." Jonathan turned around and walked out of the kitchen, leaving the house again and walking out into the murky and rainy exterior while Martha stood motionless and she bowed her head to the ground for a second before she heard someone walking up to her, and she looked up to see Pete half smiling.

"Thanks for the breakfast." Passing her by after thanking her for her good attempts to try to feed him, he also left the kitchen, and when he did, Martha was able to pat him on the back gently before he left the room to walk into the living room and sit down in the rocking chair next to his slumbering friend. Martha stood still though, wondering, panicking, and worrying, all about so many things now she didn't even know what they all were.

-

The sun made it's way through the murky and hazy clouds in the sky as outside of the yellow farm house and jogging down the field of his ranch was Jonathan, his feet splattering in the mud piles that were on the dirt ground while his mind was kept focused on one thing. Running in the barn and doing what he had to do. It was clear this was the last thing he wanted to carry out, and even if staying inside and watching his son die was pretty much the same case, he simply wanted to get the dead body of the man he had killed covered up and hidden. Because the father knew, being in that barn was going to be more difficult then ever. It was going to bring back so many recollections of what had happened that morning before, which without a doubt was not what he wanted.

As a loud sigh escaped his lips, Jonathan found himself soon face-to-face with the entrance of the one place he did not want to be, and coming to a stop from the quick jog, he panted somewhat out of breathe with a gulp of hesitation, however, knowing he needed, and wanted, to get this over with. Still, his legs didn't move. Jonathan stood motionless staring in front of him, listening to the sound of farm animals make loud noises and the light but always cold wind blow in his ears. He blinked, but didn't move. He breathed, but didn't move. He did everything but move until time passed, and he forced himself to sigh and bow his head to the ground.

Taking a few steps into the barn, he looked around sadly, having to close his eyes for a few seconds when, just like he thought would happen, memories of just two days ago came rushing into his head and caused him to be dismayed. When he took a loud inhale though, those thoughts left him, because he coughed brutally while bending over and nearly falling to his knees at the reek that he now realized was in the place.

"Oh my god." He choked out, slapping his hands over his mouth before bringing his head up and glancing around the area to see what the smell was. He soon knew without having to look that the stench was blood nevertheless-dried, rotten blood along with a decomposing body that he came to hide.

Pulling his shirt over up to his nose, Jonathan stood up straight and continued to cover his mouth when he let out another gag while his eyes started to water. He couldn't seem to concentrate on finding the corpse with the retching smell around him. He had to though, and he forced himself too as he licked his dry lips behind his shirt and walked more into the barn, taking glances to the left and to the right trying to remember where the carcass laid. It was when he suddenly tripped on something hard that rested on the ground that made him nearly fall to his face, curse aloud, and stop searching.

"Damn it!" Jonathan twisted around after he stumbled forwards to see what had made him slip, and his face softened up when he did see what it was. Lying down in a parched sea of crimson liquid was a pair of black pliers, opened up half of the way while the sliver top was now dark red.

He froze the moment he saw this, his limps feeling numb and like they were about to fall off as he remembered how much pain he afflicted on his son just with that utensil. He remembered grabbing it from the toolbox, and he remembered digging it in the boy's chest, shuddering as he felt it hit his very ribs. He remembered taking out the bullet that he was shot with, and sitting still staring at it in pure, utter shock. He remember too much, and this made him to gulp loudly and shake his head to turn away from the sight only to look ahead and see more of what he didn't want to see.

Ahead of him was half of the floor covered in dried blood, and lying in the middle of that were disgusting dishcloths that use to be clean white, but looking at them you wouldn't believe. And with that was a knife, a large, staining with blood, knife. A Tuscan knife passed down to Jonathan from his father, and in a sick twisted way, passed down to his own son.

Jonathan couldn't stand this anymore. In his own barn, he was being overwhelmed with reminiscences of a dawn that he would never forget and didn't want to think of. With a loud gulp, he closed his eyes and turned away from the appalling sight to walk frontward, not noticing he was stumbling until he this time almost tripped over his own feet, which caused him to grab the wooden post next to him and lean against it both tiredly and desolately. Trying to take control of his emotions, he took a few deep breathes and swallowed back the lump in his throat with some struggle as he slowly felt himself opening his eyes in knowing that too much time was going by he was doing nothing.

The moment he did open his eyes, his shoulders dropped and he looked up at the ceiling above him a little taken aback at the unexpected view he saw. He finally found the dead Morgan Edge, slumped against the wall with his hand to his heart and his eyes opened widely yet, he was unmistakably lifeless. A line of blood fell down from his chest, and with the mumble of just more grisliness to see, Jonathan ran his fingers through his hair and walked towards the body.

Looking around when he did, he spotted a large coverlet that they used for their truck during bad weather, and snatching it from its place, he wrinkled his nose up and looked away as he threw it onto the body. He didn't know if it was wrong he didn't feel guilty that the man was dead, but he did know he was angry at whom he had killed. More angry then he would ever be guilty. And making sure nothing was showing so the corpse was hidden, he immediately spun around and began to jog back out of the barn with relief he had gotten that over with.

His legs slowly stopped trotting though, and he came to a halt not even a few feet away from the body with a sudden rage of anger in his body. It caused him to turn around and once again gulp back the tears in his throat as gradually turned around and stared at the covered up carcass. He felt himself shake his head with fury as he did too.

"I hope you're rotting in hell for what you've done to my son." Jonathan furiously muttered to him, and with that said, he didn't waste another second in the place. He spun around and started to walk out, knowing that, that barn was going to be the one place in his whole home that he wasn't going to be able to go in again and not be faced with memories of what had happened to a single boy. What he had done to his son. What was causing the fight between him and fate that very moment. And Jonathan jogged out of the barn without another thought.

To be Continued…


	22. Trying to save his life

Another roll of thunder entered Pete's ears down in the living room of the Kent house as he sat down in the cushioned rocking chair next to the brown leather couch in front of him, his arms to his chest and his feet on the leg stand to the seat while he rocked himself back and forth out of tedium. Quietness echoed the area while he did, which was half of the reason he was so bored. Bored and worried.

Still on the divan of course was a slumbering Clark, who had his hand resting on his stomach that was covered with a quilt, and his pale face shinning with a thin layer of sweat. And while Pete looked at this, he could not help but think about how sick his friend was, and how ailing he was, how he was dying as every moment went by. He sighed every time he thought that same deliberation too, because he knew that if the boy did die he would be feeling even more remorseful than he was now for the reason that he didn't do anything to help him stay alive. No one was doing anything to help him stay alive, or even get better. It was what made him angry with not only his friend's parents, but also himself.

Suddenly being snapped out of his thoughts when the entrance to the house slammed open, making a loud noise that caused him to throw his head over to where the door was, Pete could see Jonathan come running into the living room abruptly. With his hand covering his mouth and loud coughs escaping his chest, the man pulled his shirt that was covering his chin and nose back down to his neck and leaned against the wooden post closest to him. While he did, Pete simply turned back over to the sofa after a few seconds went by when he saw this, and once the gags died down, he spoke up desolately.

"Reeks, doesn't it?" He asked with a loud exhale. Looking over at him, Jonathan nodded his head while blinking back the tears that formed in his eyes from the near choking and gulped saliva down his throat as he walked over to where the dark skinned teen was.

"It's not the most pleasant smell in there." Jonathan didn't intend to mumble those words, however, they came out slurred together, and he could see by the way Pete looked he didn't understand what he said, more less listened to it, making it clear that he was sucked into his own world. It wasn't unusual or discourteous that he was though. Lately, even he had been spacing out, thinking about things he shouldn't be reflecting on and just wondering small thoughts that he should be putting aside for another time. It was uncontrollable with what was going on.

Licking his dry lips, Jonathan tilted his head to the side whilst he examined the boy sitting in the chair, trying to read his thoughts by gazing at his expression nevertheless having no luck. This caused him to walk more to the sofa, for once overlooking his sleeping son on it, and grabbed the hard wooden chair that was to the right of him and sit down in it after he moved it closer to the boy. All the same, no movement came out of him when he did, and putting his hand on his shoulder reassuringly didn't change that either.

"Pete?" Jonathan's voice got the teen to look over at him, and rubbing his shoulder, he leaned his head to the side once again. "Are you okay?" The father asked with concern, and looking straight into Pete's eyes as he did the same, he soon heard him sigh loudly while letting his arms drop from his chest and a shrug fall upon him.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Pete told him, and knowing he was not convincing at all when he said this, he rubbed his tired face as through the corner of his eye he saw the older Kent nod his head and lean back into the chair he sat in.

"Really? Because you look like...you did something you regret…and now you feel guilty for it." Putting on a sympathetic smile when Pete looked back over at him, Jonathan could see immediately a sarcastic grin fall on his lips himself as he moved his hand forward to him.

"Wow, you know, you have that same look." Pete cynically said as he sat back in the rocking chair ashamed instantly that he had replied that to the man. Not only was it disrespectful, but he should be at least a little glad that him and his best friend had made up, even if he was resentful that unlike the father, he was stalling on even speaking to his dying comrade. And knowing this, the farmer rubbed his shoulder some more.

"Pete, we're worried about you. Are you sure you're okay?" Jonathan inquired for a second time as he looked at the boy's face even if he didn't look back at him. He hesitated on answering that question, and the moment he did at least a minute had gone by.

"I sure am better then getting shot and having surgery done on me by my father." Once again being bitter with his words, Pete put his arms back to his chest, which caused Jonathan to drop his hand from his shoulder and sigh sadly at what he had just heard.

"What's happening to Clark is really tearing you apart, isn't it?" Knowing that in his mind he rhetorically asked that, Jonathan watched Pete snap his head over to him, and he could sense the anger in his body as he rejoined back furiously.

"Mr. Kent, why aren't we doing anything? He's dying and here we are not doing a single thing-he's going to die because we aren't taking action, and you know it." Pete gulped loudly when with those words said, silence echoed the room as he saw Jonathan stare absently and bend over so he could put his head in his hands and rub between his eyes stressfully. He knew the teen was right. He knew it all too well, and that was what caused him to reply with what he had been saying since the moment his son was shot and put him where he was now.

"Pete, we're doing the best we can, you just have to understand that." Jonathan tried to tell him this, but Pete snapped back again.

"Right, sitting around waiting for twelve o'clock to come is doing the best we can." Pete angrily murmured as he sat back in the rocking chair and shrugged almost carelessly.

"Mr. Kent, have you even looked at what time it is?" Pete asked him with a doubt that he had, and when he saw him look up at him and then over at the grandfather clock that was behind him and in the corner of the room, he rolled his eyes. The father however felt his shoulders drop and a pit of sadness fall in his stomach when he saw what the clock had to say.

"Oh boy." Jonathan mumbled as he looked away from the chronometer and closed his eyes miserably. The time was ten thirty in the morning, making it less then three hours until afternoon hit. The afternoon he and his wife promised that if Clark didn't get better, they would think of a new plan together, and gravely.

Unexpectedly hearing a new voice in the room enter his ears, he looked behind him and watched a red haired woman come walking in. "He's right Jonathan." Sauntering out of the kitchen, Martha ambled over to where the two boys were and stood right behind her husband as she put her own arms to her chest covered with a green sweater and sniffed back her tears.

"We need to do something." Her words got Jonathan to snap his head behind him and throw his hands up in the air wretchedly.

"I don't know what to do though Martha!" Jonathan exclaimed, as right away he knew his voice was way too loud, and this caused him to turn back over to the couch in worry that he had woken his son up. Luckily, only a few moans came out of Clark's mouth and he rolled his head over to the left side of the pillow behind his skull, showing that he was still deep in slumber. Sighing when he watched this, the father put his head in his hands again and shrugged forlornly.

"It's obvious he's not going to heal by himself, and waiting is just making things get worse. Martha, what else can we do besides that?" Jonathan asked with sadness. His wife not giving in like he was on the other hand, and she took a seat down on the armrest on the sofa by her sleeping son and put her hands on her thighs so she could lean forward to the farmer.

"Something-anything! My baby is dying Jonathan; we have to do some-" Cutting her off by once again turning his head over to her, Jonathan shook his head in disagreement to what she was saying.

"Martha, he was shot and…cut open, and he hasn't healed one bit. That's the only thing that can make him better right now, and it's clear he's not going to be able to do that with how sick he has gotten." Jonathan informed her, making sure his voice wasn't loud yet stern while he choked out most of those words with misery since it was almost peculiar saying them. His son was sick, even dying. He never thought in his whole life he would be saying those words, more less seeing them come true in real life.

Looking over at Jonathan, Pete suddenly spoke up with worry. "What if he does heal and he's still sick Mr. Kent? Like…what if he doesn't get better at all?" Biting on his lower lip and gulping loudly, Pete winced as he saw Jonathan freeze at what he had said before letting out an exhale of apprehension.

"I didn't think of that." Jonathan nearly whispered as he dropped his head to look at the ground and groan loudly. Through all the time he had to think about what was going on and what was going to happen, never had it came across the father's mind that once the boy healed, he could still be unwell. He was mostly worried about him not even healing, and before that, not waking up from unconsciousness. Now, there was panic that when his wounds did alleviate he was still going to be sick, because that made perfect sense, which meant it could happen very easily.

"This thing has become a pure hell." Pete mumbled to himself. And as he put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, a position that almost everyone was doing when they sat in the rocking chair, he could hear someone speak up through the stillness that had entered.

"Do you think Kryptonite is still in him Jonathan? Maybe….maybe that's why he's so sick." Martha took a long shot with that sentence as she thought about if there was still some of her son's deadly weakness in him, on the other hand, that thought being interrupted when Jonathan shook his head.

"No, the only Kryptonite that got in his body was from the bullet, and…that's in a lead box right now." Closing his eyes to hold back his tears, the man tried to keep himself composed by not thinking about the bullet he had to take out of Clark, and by that, he kept himself talking.

"The only thing I can think of is." Jonathan trailed off into silence instead of finishing what he had to say, which caused the red-haired woman on the sofa armrest to tilt her head to side in wonder to what he was thinking.

"What Jonathan?" Martha asked almost in anger since it was evident that he was keeping something from her, and seeing this, Pete looked over at the father but kept his jaw in his palms.

"What is it Mr. Kent?" He questioned himself. Jonathan kept himself quiet though, speculating on if he should tell the two what he was thinking or if he shouldn't. He knew that the name he was going to soon speak didn't bring anyone in high hopes, which was half of the reason he was doubting on telling them, however, did ultimately despite his mind telling him other wise.

"I think Jor-El is doing this to him." Jonathan looked up at his wife to see her expression completely confused, and she stumbled to find the right words when she tried to answer back to him.

"What? H-how Jonathan, why?" Martha wanted to say more than that, but that being the only thing she could find to say, she looked at him in total bewilderment. He was the one that wanted to see Jor-El; he thought he would help them, so why would he be doing this to their son in the first place?

Shaking his head, the man shrugged at her question. "I don't know. I just think that if he wanted him to come home from Metropolis so badly that he wouldn't be allowing things to get this bad-he would've healed Clark by now." Jonathan informed them, which didn't get to Martha at all yet Pete nodded his head in understanding. It was not to what he assumed when he spoke up though.

"That's why you want to go see him." The teen said, and sat back in the rocking chair after he did once he saw Martha stand up from the couch since it was clear there was going to be another conflict between them.

"You're not seeing him Jonathan." Martha harshly told him instead of yelling, not wanting to wake up the boy sleeping on the couch. That was ruined when Jonathan shoot up from his chair and yelled back nonetheless.

"He's our only hope Martha!" Jonathan shouted, overlooking that he didn't see if Clark had waken up as his wife shook her head and took a step forward to him.

"No, he is not, that man will only make things worse! You know what happened the last time you saw him Jonathan; I don't want my husband getting hurt. It's bad enough my son is." Martha felt water well up in her eyes and her arms started to shake in tears as she brought them up to her chest and watched Jonathan simply stare at her for a few minutes. During that time, pure quietness flew their ears.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Jonathan finally spoke up. He didn't get a reply when he did too. He got more silence, and looking at Martha, he shook his head while sitting back down in the hard wooden chair next to the sofa.

"My point." Leaning back in the seat, he continued to shake his head in anger that the woman wouldn't let him do the only thing that he knew would save their son from death's wrench. He locked his eyes on the resting boy as he thought this, ignoring everyone around him just to calm himself down, and in time, the almost for once peaceful tranquility again left with a voice heard.

"What ever happened to helping Clark get better Mrs. and Mr. Kent? That plan could still work." Pete implied while exchanging glances to both parents, who one sat in thought and the other shook his head at what he had heard in hopelessness.

"I doubt it Pete." Jonathan muttered, which got Martha to tilt her head to the side for second time with infuriation to the man.

"Jonathan, do you have anything else in mind to save Clark? I think Pete's right, that could still work." She alleged with a tone in her voice that gave out insinuation to her husband, who ignored it and looked over at her crossly.

"Well, how long are we going to end up doing that until we figure out that he's not getting any better Martha?" Jonathan asked, inside his mouth chewing on her tongue as he regretted when all they did was sit around and wait for the boy to wake up now a day ago, when they could've done something. Because so, he knew that the plan she had just brought up was going to be the same way. They'd rather sit around and do nothing than that. The dark colored boy in the room thought otherwise though when he looked over at the mother and shrugged a little.

"How 'bout we set another time limit Mrs. Kent? So if he isn't a little better by that time we think of something else to do?" Pete brought to mind with an uplifting feeling that he had finally given an idea to help his sick friend, and even if they said no to it, he felt a little better that he had done something. Even if it was a small something, it was something, and Martha soon nodded her head to the idea.

"If he's not better by three o'clock, we'll start taking matters into our own hands." Saying this to Jonathan, looking at him as she did too, Martha waited for him to reply, and while she did, Pete answered with his thoughts.

"Sounds good to me." Pete also looked over at the father once he said that, and as they both waited for him to talk; Jonathan sat in thought. His conscious was screaming at him to hold on tight with his plan, and he knew that he should have said no, because when he ran his hands down his face and threw his hands up in the air, he regretted his cave.

"Fine, Martha." Jonathan angrily snapped back, getting up from his chair when he did and walking away from the two to go into the kitchen and merely stand there after letting out a deep sigh, because he couldn't believe he had agreed to something he knew would fail. He didn't believe that plan would work. He knew that there was something else keeping his son so ill, something else making him prevent himself from healing and getting better. He just didn't know what it was. And honestly, he didn't know if he ever wouldbefore it became too late anyway.

To be Continued...


End file.
